


When I Was So Much Younger Than Today

by Unforth



Series: All For One, One For All [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blindfolds, Blood, Blow Job, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Butt Plugs, Castiel and Jimmy Novak Are Twins, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Destiel - Freeform, Dom Castiel, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flogging, Gags, Ignored Safeword, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attack, Rimming, Sadism, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sub Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An "All For One" Prequel. After an absolutely terrible morning, Dean calls the only person he can think of who might be able to help him, the only person who won't judge him for his kinks: Jimmy Novak.</p><p>(Or: how Cas and Dean went from being besties to being dom/sub)</p><p>*Note on Rape/Non-Con Tag:* When I first put this out, I only used the Extremely Dubious Consent tag but on reflection and reading my reader's comments, I've changed my mind. READ THE TAGS. There is safeword use being ignored in this story, so consider yourselves warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Help" by the Beatles. You can listen to it and watch it [here on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWP6Qki8mWc) and join me in ogling John Lennon...who I've had a thing for since I was 10... (and, by the way, according to Lennon himself, the song Help was about depression and insecurity he was really suffering from, so appropriate, too...)
> 
> In "In This World of Strangers, I Belong to Someone" I alluded to Dean's second panic attack, which he had the day he broke up with Alastair. I hadn't thought that through AT ALL when I put that line in, but while I was editing the story, I had the idea for this one.
> 
> So, dear reader. You know Supernatural (I hope...). You know Alastair. I think you can probably make some educated guesses what's in store in this chapter. However, have some warnings.
> 
> The first chapter is interspersed with an extensive flashback of Dean's terrible, lousy, no-good, really crappy, truly shit morning and early afternoon. This includes sadism, safeword usage, and said safeword being ignored.
> 
> I decided to go with "EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT" to describe the events in question, in that Dean had *previously* consented to the activities engaged in, but, well, that's a borderline call, part of me thinks I should flat-out call it Non-Con, because seriously, if one partner says no, the other partner needs to *stop.* And that does not happen.
> 
> As of now I've got 13k words written. I *promise* there is angsty schmoop (cause that's about what Dean is capable of - considering the events in this story are 8 months before the events of "Sticks and Stones") and consensual smut and happy - as the description says, this is the story of how Dean and Cas hook up for the first time - but it gets off to an *extremely* rough start, and I want people to be aware of that.
> 
> *TIMELINE*  
> This story is a PREQUEL. Of the stories I have written so far, it takes place FIRST.
> 
> Fourteen years before 20XA: Cas and Dean enter their freshman year at Lawrence HS together and become friends. Both are 14, as is Jimmy. Sam is 10 (Dean is 4 ½ years older).
> 
> Ten years before 20XA: Dean, Jimmy and Cas graduate. Dean stays in Lawrence. Jimmy moves west to start school at Berkeley. For a year, Cas goes to KU, but then he follows Jimmy to California.
> 
> Six years before 20XA: Sam graduates high school. He leaves for Stanford. Dean stays in Lawrence.
> 
> Three years before 20XA: John Winchester dies when Dean is 26 years old. Dean moves to San Jose.
> 
> Two years before 20XA: Sam graduates pre-law, starts law school.
> 
> July, 20XA: Dean and Cas start dating (the events of THIS STORY)
> 
> November, 20XA: Cas invites Jimmy to join them (the events of “I Guess You’re Just What I Needed”)
> 
> Late March, 20XB: Dean says “I love you.” (the events of “No More Than He Deserves”)
> 
> Early April, 20XB: A whole pile of angst happens. (the events of "Sticks and Stones" and "In This World Of Strangers, I Belong to Someone.")

“Hey, Jimmy.” Casual. Nonchalant. Dean  _always_  called Jimmy out of the blue. This wasn’t totally weird or abnormal. Absolutely not. Totally a random social call. Utterly innocuous. These are not the droids you’re looking for.

_The flogger struck Dean’s back again, and only willpower and the ball gag in his mouth kept him from screaming, only the rough rope binding him spread-eagle on the bed kept him from writhing and curling in on himself. His shoulders and thighs contorted, limbs straining against the constraints, but there wasn’t the least give, there wasn’t the least relief, there wasn’t the least escape. There was no sympathy to be had._

“Dean! Dude! What’s up?” Unlike Dean, Jimmy actually was at ease and relaxed, upbeat and utterly different than Cas’ no matter how similar they looked and sounded to those who didn’t know them well. “Oh, is this about going to see that new Hercules thing? Cause dude, you know I’m  _so in_ , right?”

 _“Very good, Dean.” With his eyes covered by a thick blindfold, lying face-down on the bed, Dean couldn’t see Alastair’s expression, but he didn’t need to. “I can tell you’re really in the spirit_   _of things now.” After four months doing weekly scenes, Dean could perfectly picture the malicious glitter in blue eyes, the stalking step that paced around the bed looking for the ideal angle from which to place the next strike, the faint quirk of a cruel smile. “How many times do I have to hit you to tease some interest out of that flaccid little thing of yours?” Alastair didn’t give a_ fuck  _if Dean enjoyed what was being done to him. “Let’s find out.” Dean’s pleasure had nothing to do with their scenes. “And Dean? This had better be good for me.” That wasn’t what either of them was there for._

“Yeah, Hercules,” said Dean absently. “Looks awesome, right? You free next Sunday? Matinee? Rocco’s after?” The plans had no bearing on why Dean had actually called Jimmy, but the longer he could procrastinate, the better. There was no way for Dean to say why he’d called, no way for him to admit what he needed. Of the only three people in San Jose he could rely on, Jimmy would normally be the last he’d call for help – Sam would usually be the first, though, really, if Dean had any choice at all he wouldn’t call anyone – but in this instance, Jimmy was the only one of the three who might possibly understand what Dean was going through, might possibly offer him support without judgment.

 _Tension built in Dean’s back as he waited for the next blow to fall. Frantic thoughts begged his recalcitrant muscles to relax. He was all too aware that if he was rigid when Alastair struck him it would hurt that much more, but his body was in too much pain to give a shit what his mind thought about anything. Fuck, if anything his body was intentionally ignoring all mental remonstrance, well aware that this exercise in agony was all Dean’s brain’s idea, that for some bizarre reason Dean had_ volunteered _for the flagellation that wracked agony over tortured flesh at every blow_.

“Oooh, no good, buddy,” Jimmy said with genuine regret. “Hot date. With  _twins_.” Laughter drowned out background sounds of muffled voices and passing traffic. “Twins are  _awesome_.”

_A hard strike streaked stinging fire over Dean’s ass and lower back, followed by another, another, a rain of blows, accompanied by the snap and thwap of leather, a low chuckle, and intense, unending, building pain. Dean tried to keep quiet as the assault continued, but he couldn’t despite his best efforts. Desperate, strained sounds choked against the gag, ravaged his throat as the flogger ravaged his back. Tears soaked into the blindfold, and instinctually, Dean pulled as hard as he could against the ropes, pulled until the coarse hemp chafed agonized rings around the skin of his ankles and wrists, pulled as if his life depended on it._

“If you say so,” Dean said without really hearing. What a fucking  _idiot_ he was. If he was going to call at all, he should stop fucking around. If he didn’t even have the nerve to ask for what he needed, he should get off the phone.

I deserve this _. Strike._ I failed my family.  _Strike_. I failed my brother.  _Strike_. I failed my father.  _Strike_. I have sinned.  _Strike_. I should suffer.  _Strike_. I should pay.  _Strike_. Make me pay.  _Strike_. Punish me.  _Strike_. Punish me.  _Strike_.  _Punish me. Strike._

“Hey, you okay? You don’t sound so good,” concern tinged Jimmy’s voice, incongruous,  _wrong_.

 _Dean’s back arched up from the mattress as his skin split, tore open as it never had in the past. Alastair had bled him before, but he’d never been whipped until his skin broke. The pain was unbelievable, and he screamed around the ball gag, screamed with his entire body._ I deserve this…No. No, stop, please stop, have to make him stop.  _Desperately, Dean patted at the plastic-covered mattress, their prearranged signal that Dean couldn’t take more, since he wasn’t able to safe word while he was gagged._

“I’m fine,” Dean lied. “Just wondering, I’ve got some stuff to do around the house, but it’s a two person job. Cas is teaching, Sam’s got midterms, and I was wondering if maybe you had an hour or two.” It was all bullshit, but he couldn’t explain, he was too much of a coward to confess after all. He couldn’t say what had happened, what he needed. He had no fucking clue  _what_  he needed. All Dean knew was that Jimmy had seen some shit, and if anyone could help him, Jimmy would be able to. If he could just get Jimmy over to the house, nothing else would be needed. One look at Dean would tell Jimmy everything he needed to know.

_“What was that, Dean?” Alastair breathed heavily, voice thick with arousal. “I can’t quite hear you.” The words fell in Dean’s ears distorted, virtually incomprehensible over uncontrollable keening and the rush of blood and terror flooding his thoughts. All sense vanished saved the need to make the beating stop, and tenuously Dean held on to one thing, that slapping the bed was the key. Frantic, he did so over and over again, struggling against his bindings. Another blow struck his torn back, and he sobbed and squirmed helplessly._

“Fuck…I wish…today really isn’t good,” Jimmy’s voice sounded far away. Memories choked Dean with nausea, his stomach roiling at the taste of blood on his lips. “How’s tomorrow?”

_The bed shifted beneath him, bounced his body up and down as the springs shifted. Each inadvertent movement was painful in a new way. His wrenched muscles ached, the knots at his wrists and ankles slid easy over bloody rope burns, and his back felt like it had literally been set ablaze from shoulders to ass. Flesh brushed against the skin of his inner thighs, fingers grasped the plug inside him and thrust it roughly in and out. A whisper of pleasure crept through the pain flooding his thoughts, and stomach-turning euphoria flooded Dean._

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said with as much of the semblance of brightness as he could muster. Fuck, he hurt  _everywhere_. It was better that Jimmy didn’t come over. Dean wasn’t sure he was physically capable of rising from the bathroom floor long enough to walk the short distance to the front door. God, he was fucking useless, and a coward to boot.

_“Wet and ready for me, I see,” Alastair said with an audible smirk. A hand ran down his back, sparking agony, moving smoothly over skin slick with sweat and blood. Weakly, Dean smacked his palm against the bed again. The plug was torn from his ass, and Alastair’s cock pressed against him. Dean whimpered uncontrollably, sounds trapped in his throat as broken whines, insides clenched with a wrenching combination of desire and disgust. As much pain as he was in, a part of him still wanted. He’d taken his punishment. He’d earned his reward. He just wanted the pain to stop. Alastair was anything but a tender lover, but surely even his brutal strokes were better than not being filled at all. Nothing was happening to Dean save what he’d earned. His hand stilled, fingers clenching convulsively into fists in plastic covering as Alastair chuckled and breached him, forced his way inside Dean with a single solid thrust. Dean deserved this._

“Are you sure you’re alright, Dean?” Far from setting Jimmy’s concerns at ease, Dean had apparently roused them further. The whisper of anxiety that thickened Jimmy’s voice curled in Dean’s insides and knotted him up with worry, guilt, and shame. Objectively, Dean knew he wasn’t alright. Objectively, Dean knew he was hurt, maybe badly. Objectively, Dean knew that what had happened that morning _wasn’t okay_ , and that he’d done what he needed to do. Objectively, Dean knew he needed help urgently. He was completely incapable of asking for it.

 _Alastair fucked him without the least concern for Dean’s comfort, interest or gratification. From the start the thrusts were punishingly hard, no regard for the relative size of Alastair’s cock as compared to the small plug, no regard for Dean’s wrenched, strained muscles or his back weeping blood. When Alastair had hurt him in the past, even on the rare occasions he’d drawn blood, Dean had only had minimal difficulty transitioning from the punishment component, the masochistic aspect of the scene, into the sexual. Today, that didn’t happen at all. Grunting with effort, using strong hands to push and pull Dean’s body as he would, Alastair thrust and thrust, and though Dean felt scattered pleasure as bursts of warmth in his body, it didn’t built in his body, didn’t swell and burgeon, didn’t even bring him to an erection. He hurt too much, in his mind, in his flesh. All he wanted was for it to stop. He’d_ told _Alastair that he wanted to stop. Why hadn’t Alastair stopped? Fingers bruised Dean’s ass as Alastair continued unrelentingly and Dean wept pain and misery into his blindfold._

 “No worries, Jimmy,” said Dean gruffly. “Have a good one.” He practically jerked the phone away from his ear, fumbling for the “disconnect” button.

_A low, satisfied groan oozed from Alastair as he jerked Dean’s hips up, held them still. With a spate of quick, desperate thrusts the sadist came, pulling out as he did to splatter Dean’s already disgusting back with streaks of white come. Dean shuddered, disgusted with what he’d done, disgusted that he’d wanted this, disgusted with Alastair, disgusted with himself so profoundly he couldn’t believe it._

“Dea—” Jimmy’s voice echoed from the phone just as Dean found the button and his phone chirped to let him know the call had been ended. Resting his elbows on his raised knees, Dean slumped forward, back protesting agony, one of the gashes breaking open to leak a thin trickle of blood along his spine. He dropped his head against his hands, fingers still wrapped around his cell phone, and tried to take slow, calming breaths. If Jimmy couldn’t help him, what the fuck was he supposed to do now?

_Indifferent hands untied Dean’s restraints, freed his ankles, then his wrists. Every instinct screamed to hide, to disappear, but moving hurt too much, and Dean could bring himself to do no more than lie limply spread eagle, flat on his stomach, hardly able to lift his own body weight even enough to inhale. Each exhale felt like it drained all his energy, left him merged with the mattress. His sweaty skin stuck to the plastic, which made a discordant squeaking, stretching noise under his weight, squealing as Alastair moved around the bed freeing Dean’s limbs. A finger traced along Dean’s chin in the imitation of tenderness, a farce that was revealed as Alastair pushed Dean’s face against the plastic so hard he couldn’t breathe for the material suctioning to his nose. The buckles on the ball gag were undone and it was torn away, Dean gasping desperately in its absence. The blindfold went last, and Dean’s vision, hazy and dark, resolved into Alastair’s lean, naked body, smeared with bright red streaks of blood, smiling at Dean in the cruel way that, as far as Dean knew, was the only semblance of kindness and humanity that Alastair was capable of._

Calling Cas was inconceivable. Dean’s best friend was so vanilla he made Neapolitan ice cream seem risqué. There was nothing about Dean’s situation that Cas would be able to understand, and his well-meaning, benign, misguided attempts at sympathy would only make Dean feel worse. No, that wasn’t fair. Cas would understand that Dean needed help, and he’d give it unconditionally, and try to give him comfort as well. Help, Dean could acknowledge he needed. Comfort, on the other hand, was completely undeserved and utterly impossible to accept. Dean had brought every bit of his pain on himself.

_“You were so good today,” Alastair murmured, wrapping a hand around Dean’s chin and jerking his head up, forcing their eyes to meet. Alastair’s were crystalline blue, cold as a winter morning, horribly chilling against Dean’s pained, incinerated flesh._

Calling Sam was inconceivable. There was literally not a single way that Dean could imagine his brother reacting to this situation that would improve things. Sam meant well, but his initial reaction would be to tell Dean what an idiot he was for not going immediately to the hospital, and his next would be fury ostensibly directed at Alastair but in truth aimed at large part at Dean and what a pathetic excuse for a brother he was. If Dean wasn’t so busted, he would never have gotten involved with a sadist in the first place. It was his first foray into masochism, and for the past few months, it had seemed like a decent answer. Alastair had appeared to accept Dean’s limitations, and Dean had gotten what he needed. The suffering and subsequent release he experienced cleansed him, left him clear headed, left him feeling able to get through the day – at least until the high wore off. Then he’d feel achy and depressed and even more pathetic and worthless than he’d felt before. Then he’d crave another scene, another high, another glorious explosion of pain to drown out the voices in his head that never shut up. Sam would  _never_  understand. That was a good thing. It meant that Dean hadn’t completely failed his brother. It meant that he’d managed to shelter Sammy enough that the younger man couldn’t possibly relate to what would drive Dean to someone like Alastair.

_“We’re done,” Dean mumbled. His mouth ached from being stretched over the gag, his throat was scoured by the noises that he’d not been able to keep from making. Nonetheless, he could tell by Alastair’s reaction that his words were intelligible. Alastair’s lips quirked into a slight, expressive frown, his body went stiff, his fingers dug into Dean’s chin hard._

The phone in Dean’s hands vibrated, the low opening notes of “Smoke on the Water” eerie and echoing in the confines of the tile bathroom. The enema kit showed over the rim of the garbage, reminding him that even his attempts to clean himself couldn’t remove the sense that the morning had left him tainted. The room was glisteningly clean and white, and made Dean feel impure and foul.

_“I must have misheard you,” Alastair’s calm façade was more intimidating than anger would have been. Someone with such utter self-control was capable of anything. Fear heaped atop the morass of physical and emotional trauma swamping Dean’s brain, and part of him screamed to agree with Alastair’s words, claim to have misspoken, rather than risk Alastair’s wrath._

The Caller ID named Dean’s caller Jimmy, and Dean scowled and sent it straight to voice mail. If Jimmy wasn’t available to help, Dean would have to figure things out alone. He shouldn’t have a called in the first place. Dean didn’t need help. Now, as always, he’d do what he needed to do on his own. In this case, that meant he would man up, take another shower to wash of the feeling of being steeped in crap, and go to bed nice and early. He was exhausted. He’d feel better in the morning, and he still had all day tomorrow off to recover before he had to go to work on Friday.

_“I said, we’re done,” Dean snarled, anger rising. With a monumental effort of pure, fury-fueled willpower, Dean got his hands under him and sat up. Sweat and blood splattered on the plastic. “I told you to stop, and you didn’t. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.”_

Dean’s muscles tensed, the initial clench before actual movement, and jolted him through with pain as every joint screamed objection to the intention of rising.  _Fuck_ , Alastair had  _really_  done a number on him this time.

 _“Oh, did you safe word? I must not have noticed,” Alastair’s lisp was pronounced, his expression playful, his eyes dead. “We were having so much fun.” Dean met Alastair’s gaze with all the anger, betrayal and self-disgust he felt. “Look at you, giving me those bedroom eyes. But we both know the kind of man you_ really _are, don’t we?”_

With a groan, Dean overcame the ache and forced himself to stand. He felt like he’d been on a Goddamn rack, stretched thin, distended, busted. His worn wrists brushed against the rough material of his jeans and burned. Maybe he’d skip the shower. He’d already had one. It wasn’t like he was actually dirty. Collapsing in bed sounded  _great_.

_“Yeah,” shouted Dean. “The kind of man who doesn’t need you. Go to hell, Alastair.” Dean’s clothes were folded by the door. With more strength than he would have credited himself with having, he crossed the room as if he weren’t on the verge of falling on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the streams of liquid trailing over his ass and down his legs._

Blood soaked through his shirt, thick flow upsettingly reminiscent of Alastair’s come on him earlier. Determinedly, he turned the water on and let it heat, and with difficulty he stripped down. In the bright light of the small bathroom, the mirror showed every blemish. Dean’s chest was unharmed, but when he turned he could see the angry red lines crisscrossing his back, several partially scabbed over and leaking thick, dark blood. His face was a disaster, his chin bruised, his mouth swollen, his light brown hair matted to his head, his green eyes gritty, sunken, rimmed in red, his cheeks streaked from crying. The steam that rapidly filled the room made breathing more difficult, but it obliterated his reflection, for which he was intensely grateful.

 _“See you next week,” taunted Alastair. “Coy” sprang incongruously to mind as a word to describe the playfulness in Alastair’s voice, and the contrast between the meaning of that word and the sadist’s cruelty was sickening. As hastily as he could, Dean threw his clothing on, pulling his shirt and jeans on despite the painful abrasion of the fabric on his scoured skin, the frustrating way the cloth stuck and clung to the fluids dampening him. Dean slammed the door as he walked out, stalked to the Impala, and collapsed in the front seat. The hardest part was done. He’d managed to walk, managed to leave, Alastair hadn’t stopped him. Now he just had to get home to safety, and he’d never have to go through that again_.

He was never seeing Alastair again.

The air in the bathroom was thick. It was so hard to breath. Dean needed  _air_  but each time he inhaled all he got were memories.

_Alastair using a razor to make him bleed. Alastair fucking him open unlubricated. Alastair laughing when Dean screamed. Alastair promising to give him what he needed. Alastair choking him on cock. Alastair reminding him that he got no more than he deserved. Alastair dripping hot wax on his dick. Alastair flogging him bloody. Alastair ignoring his use of a safe word._

No one could help Dean. No one could know the things he’d allowed to be done to him. Shame choked him, shame at how he’d gotten off on the pain, shame at his worthlessness, shame at how often he’d screamed.

Nothing he did got enough air in his body. His vision blurred out – too much steam in the room, making everything fuzzy, rendering every surface vague and undefined. He blinked, things came into focus; he blinked and there was nothing, only a wash of pristine white tile; he blinked and splatters of ruby covered everything, each a perfect glittering gem in the haze. With a shaking hand, Dean reached out, ran a finger over one of the drops, but it wouldn’t go away. He scrubbed over it, gasping, again and again, and the splotch only grew bigger, spread along the wall like a cancer, extended into a long line that split open and leaked a ragged line of blood over the tiles.

 _Need to breath. Need it to go away. Need to breath. Need to make him stop hurting me. Need to breath. Need to escape. Need to breath. Need to be punished. Need to breath. Need_ help.  _Help me, help me, someone help me, someone make the blood go away, someone heal me, someone fix me, someone punish me, that’s what I deserve, that’s all that I deserve._

The gash in the wall grew and grew. The whole room was a tear in the world, swollen, infected, oozing ichor and blackness and red, so much red.

_Help me, Jimmy! Help me, Sam! Cas, help me, please, help me, Castiel!_

There was nothing but red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst is over. Promise.
> 
> By the way, in terms of kink...I in no way mean to imply that I think that SM is bad in general. I in fact mean to imply that Alastair is a sadistic cruel torturing son of a bitch.
> 
> Also...I'm guessing this will be 3 chapters and around 20k words but I'm not positive and, if you're a regular reader, you know I'm notoriously bad at having these guesses be accurate.
> 
> I have a busy weekend (my weekends are Friday/Saturday) but I'll get another chunk up tomorrow if I possibly can.


	2. Chapter 2

His face hurt, probably because the entire weight of his head was crunching his nose against cold, hard ceramic. Opening his eyes, Dean saw immaculate tiles, gray with his shadow, groaned and rolled to his side, curling in on himself. He couldn’t remember falling, all he could remember was the constriction in his chest, the memories clogging his head, the pain, the blood leaking out and spreading to stain everything. There was blood, droplets scattered on the floor, a larger splotch unnaturally bright crimson on the tiled wall. His stomach heaved, and he dragged himself to the toilet and vomited noisily. He’d had nothing to eat since morning, but that didn’t stop the nausea, and he coughed out bile until his throat burned and his guts finally settled.

God, he was pathetic. He’d just had a fucking _panic attack_ over a little fucking blood. He slid back on his knees, flushed, and breathed heavily, the steam thick in the room making the air thick and cloying. The blood taunted him, and he grabbed the shirt he’d shed and used it to quickly wipe up every trace of red he could see. It came away easily, absorbed by the worn fabric, unable to dry due to the humidity in the air. The shirt, with a zeppelin emblazoned “Led Zeppelin” on the front, had been a Christmas gift from Sam some years back, and one his favorites. Now the thought that he might ever wear it again had him choking over the shitter once more, dry heaving and spitting up saliva. Taking a gasping, deep breath, he laid hands on the toilet rim and determinedly forced himself to his feet. He needed that shower, like, ten minutes ago, or longer, he didn’t even fucking know. Disgustedly, he wondered how long his wussy ass had been fucking passed out on the bathroom floor. He wasn’t even drunk, for fuck’s sake.

The shower brought instant relief, and Dean sighed gratefully as the heat washed away filth and memories, eased his stiffness, and whisked his sins down the drain. Scrubbing himself, washing his hair, moving at all, was too difficult. Instead, he stood under the streams and glorified in how soothing he found being cleansed. He let the steamy air wash over his senses, lost himself happily. In those blissful minutes, there was nothing but how nice the heat and moisture felt streaming over his body.

The stinging chill ofcold water striking hot flesh pulled him from deep reverie. The hot water had run out. Even more annoyingly, one of his neighbors was playing loud music again, the bass pounding a deep staccato note that reverberated through the apartment and echoed loudly in the confines of the bathroom. Muttering curses under his breath, shivering, he stepped from the shower, debating drying himself off. Even soft terry cloth would hurt, and if he was still bleeding, he’d ruin his towel. Air could dry him just as well. Shutting the water off, he basked in the lingering heat of the steamy room and wondered idly how long it would be before the hot water recovered and he could take another shower. The pounding sounded much longer without the shower drowning it out, and the low strum of guitar strings drew him to his phone.

Grabbing his cell from beneath the pile of his clothing, he got to it just in time to miss the call. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have answered it anyway.

_Jimmy Novak, 3 new text messages_

_Jimmy Novak, 4 missed phone calls_

Frowning in annoyance, Dean wondered just how the hell he must have sounded on the phone to have aroused the twin’s worry to such an extent. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold water crept through him as he realized that Jimmy might have told Cas. Not okay. Epically not okay. Fuck, Dean had been such a fucking _idiot_ to call Jimmy. What the fuck had he been thinking?

He’d been thinking that he really needed help.

That might have been true.

It might still be true.

Heavy Darth Vader breathing warned Dean of another incoming text from Jimmy, and his phone instantly switched to the screen listing all the communication from Jimmy that he’d received.

_Jimmy Novak (4:20 PM): 1 Missed Phone Call_

_Jimmy Novak (4:25 PM): Okay, thinking it through, there was nothing about that convo that wasn’t fucking weird. What’s going on? Why’d you really call? Talk to me, bro._

_Jimmy Novak (4:26 PM): 1 Missed Phone Call_

_Jimmy Novak (4:37 PM): Like, seriously, you never fucking call. I’m sorry I’m an oblivious, self-centered douche. If there’s something you need a hand with at your place, I’ll come on over. It’s no biggie._

_Jimmy Novak (4:42 PM) 1 Missed Phone Call_

_Jimmy Novak (4:47 PM): If something is the matter, I’d like to help._

_Jimmy Novak (5:24 PM): 1 Missed Phone Call_

_Jimmy Novak (5:25 PM): Please, Dean, answer the door. I know you’re home._

The bass slamming away wasn’t fucking bass. It was fucking Jimmy fucking Novak pounding on his front door.

Heaving a sigh that trickled pain through his shoulders and back, Dean grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his hips, and walked to the door. Liquid he hoped was water trailed down his back and was absorbed by the cloth. At least his legs were more responsive than they had been. The heat had temporarily dissipated the aching stiffness that had made standing nearly impossible. All he had to do was make Jimmy leave, and he could collapse, or, if he was really lucky and the hot water rebooted, shower again.

Dean pulled the door open to be confronted by a wild-eyed Jimmy, his hand raised to knock so emphatically that he stumbled a step forward into the doorway. Jimmy’s eyes were unusually pale in the later afternoon light, reminding Dean queasily of Alastair, and his hair was tossed all over as if he’d been caught in a windstorm. His face was flushed and streaked with lines of sweat. He wore a striped button-up shirt more like Cas’ usual style, but the buttons were undone to show a wet-stained undershirt beneath, and his fucking gorgeous legs were clad in dark jeans so tight they were illegal in several states. Dean swallowed, suddenly much too aware that all he wore was a towel. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have pretended to not be home until Jimmy finally got bored and left. At least the shower had hopefully washed the evidence of his day from his face, and his bare chest was unmarked. Nothing would give Dean away unless he turned around.

“Dean!” exclaimed Jimmy, his voice rough and low in his distress.

“Hey,” Dean said with as much casual indifference as he could muster. “Told you, no worries. Not a problem, dude.”

“No, something is definitely the matter,” Jimmy said insistently, shaking his head. He took an awkward step towards Dean, then rocked back on his heels uncertainly. “What happened?”

“What part of ‘it’s nothing’ ain’t communicating?” Dean snapped. “Already done. Taken care of. No prob…”

Face growing rigid with determination, Jimmy pushed past Dean into the house, knocking the door further open forcefully enough that Dean nearly fell against the wall. Only his firm grip on the door kept him upright.

“What the fuck?”

Jimmy rounded on him, running a trembling hand through his hair, entire lean form vibrating with tension and worry. “Please don’t lie to me, Dean,” implored Jimmy. Dean frowned, quickly reviewing what he’d said in their brief conversation that could possibly have caused the younger twin to freak out this completely. “You _never_ ask for help. If you called, it’s because you really needed something. So, I’m here. Won’t you tell me what the problem is?”

“There are only so many ways I can say _I’m fucking fine_.” Emphatically, Dean jerked the door open further and gestured for Jimmy to _get the fuck out already_. He’d handle this _himself_ , like he should have done from the start.

“I _know_ you’re not okay,” Jimmy snapped, exasperated, blue eyes flaring dark fire. “I’m not leaving until you _tell me_.”

“What the fuck, Jimmy?” Dean snarled.

“Dean, _I’m Castiel_.”

The bottom fell out of Dean’s stomach, his jaw dropped in shock. Not counting the handful of times Jimmy had gone out of his way to dupe Dean, he’d _never_ confused the twins. Fuck, Cas hadn’t actually been acting anything like Jimmy would have. If Dean hadn’t been so fucked up, he’d have noticed. No wonder Cas insisted something was the matter.

He wasn’t wrong.

Dean’s growing anger dissipated in an instant, swamped by embarrassment and confusion. Dean was already so out of sorts, adding his flagrant mix up on top left him disoriented, at a complete loss as to what to say. It didn’t help that he knew that, on some level, he’d wished Cas were there. That didn’t make as actual presence anything other than awkward, and flickers of a distinctly different type of panic whispered dire warnings in Dean’s head that he could think of no way to convert into action. Cas stared at him, eyes going wider and wider the longer Dean stood silent, as it sank in fully that Dean genuinely had mixed him up with his brother. Cas knew as well as Dean did that that _never_ happened.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” stammered Dean.

“Jimmy found me on campus, said something was wrong, said you’d called him asking for help in unusually vague terms, but he wasn’t available,” Cas explained, making a visible effort to calm himself. “He thought I should call you, but my phone was dead, so he gave me his. When you didn’t answer, I came over. Now will you _please_ tell me what distressed you to the point that you’d call my brother for help when I wasn’t available?”

Guilty, shame-faced, Dean colored and stared at the carpet at Cas’ feet. Cas “came over,” that simple. Most days, Jimmy took the car – his commute was longer – and Cas had his bike. It must be 25 fricken miles from Stanford to Dean’s apartment, and Cas had done it at a pace fucking Lance Armstrong probably couldn’t have matched. No longer he looked like a mess. With the guilt came fear, and Dean’s breathing began to quicken again.

Dean was shit at keeping secrets from Cas. The only way Dean ever succeeded was by simply _never_ talking about the things that needed to be kept private, like his dad, like his kinks, like his desire to be with the gorgeous man in every possible way. Right now, he couldn’t do that. He was too exposed, and not just because he wore nothing but a towel. Alastair had stripped off every damn protection Dean had when he split Dean’s skin, he felt like a raw nerve, wired and exhausted at the same time.

Cautiously, Dean raised his gaze. Cas was staring at him impassively, brow furrowed, frowning slightly, and Dean swallowed and repressed the urge to scream at his best friend to just _get the ever-loving fuck out of his apartment already because he can’t possibly do this right now_.

_I can’t pretend I don’t need you, not now. Please leave, Cas._

_Please don’t leave, please don’t leave me, help me, please help me._

_You_ have _to go._

“You didn’t try to call me,” reasoned Cas as the silence stretched out. “You didn’t know my phone wasn’t working.” Skittishly, Dean glanced up and could see Cas assembling the pieces. “Why would you call Jimmy and not me?”

“Planning a surprise party,” Dean attempted to joke. “Needed to buy pot. Wanted to arrange an orgy. Going to the movies. Grabbing a burrito. I don’t know, any number of reasons, he’s my friend.” All the explanations fell totally flat. They both knew it made no sense. Dean and Jimmy were friends, sure, but for years Cas was the one Dean called when he needed someone, because Dean needed Cas more than he’d ever thought to need anyone who wasn’t family.

“I’m _begging_ you, Dean, don’t lie to me!” The concern compressing Cas’ mouth into a thin line, giving his eyes a hang-dog sadness, was heartbreaking.

 _He_ wants _to help me. He can’t though. I can’t let him see me. I can’t let him know. I can’t bear a lifetime of Cas looking at me with gracious acceptance of what a fucking broken weirdo I am._

“Go away, Cas.” A plaintive note he was ashamed of tinged his voice. “It’s fine now. I shouldn’t have called _anyone_.” He made a half-hearted gesture towards the open door.

Tentative steps brought Cas closer to Dean, his gaze locked on Dean’s face intensely. “There are bruises on your chin,” murmured Cas, reaching a hand out but stopping short of touching Dean’s cheek, for which Dean was profoundly grateful. “Have you been crying?” Grimacing, Dean tried futility to look away from Cas. “You really didn’t even _try_ to call me?”

_Help me, Cas!_

“No,” Dean confessed. The towel at his hips started to slip and he hastily grabbed for it. The movement caught Cas’ eye, and Dean caught every expression that flickered over that subtle face. Blue eyes raked over Dean’s bare chest, pupils momentarily flaring black, and fell on the towel, fell on Dean’s arm, fell on the scabbed over ring around Dean’s wrist, black and red and purple, flesh indented. Cas hissed a breath out in shock. Jerking the hand away from Cas’ inspection would mean allowing the towel to bare him completely, and the thought of being naked under Cas’ scrutiny, especially as torn, as damaged, as _broken_ , as he was right then, was unbearable. Cas reached for him, and Dean’s eyes slid shut, unable to watch…

_No, no, please no, don’t touch me, don’t soil yourself, don’t break me, stop!_

…and the touch never landed.

“What happened, Dean?”

Cautiously opening his eyes, the vision presented by Cas was nearly as agonizing as his injuries. The sympathy and horror that Cas’ agape expression communicated were profound. Though Cas hadn’t touched Dean, his looked like it was an act of will to prevent himself doing so, he quivered with the effort of restraining himself. A fresh bead of sweat even formed on Cas’ forehead and snaked slowly around his eye.

“I…uh…are you sure you don’t want to, uh, leave now?” Dean mumbled.

“I’ll never leave you,” Cas said devastatingly gently. Dean swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut again, holding back tears, wiggling his toes against the carpet to have something, _anything_ , to distract him from how desperately he wanted to believe that, how much he longed to read more into that simple statement than Cas had ever meant to imply. Feeling utterly, abjectly terrible, Dean dropped his grip from the door, and it slammed shut. The disturbing image of the last nail being hammered into the lid of Dean’s coffin echoed the booming shut.

_He’s going to know everything, and he’ll hate me, and I’m too weak to make him leave. Too weak again, Winchester, too weak this morning, too weak all through my fucking worthless life. If I were just a little stronger..._

“I should put some clothes on,” muttered Dean, rounding on a heel so quickly he nearly fell, and beelined towards the bedroom.

He nearly made it, too.

“Dean.” Anger was thick in Cas’ voice, and Dean flinched and froze. “Your back.”

 _Fuck_.

“Would you just…stop…for a minute or two?” Cas implored. Dean shuddered, felt scabs break open, felt thick heat ooze, felt like Alastair’s fucking _disgusting_ come was still stuck to his skin. “You’re bleeding. _Let me help you_. Do you have some antibiotic cream and bandages?”

 _Vile. Hideous. Tainted. Stop pretending this doesn’t freak you out, Cas. Stop pretending I don’t nauseate you_.

“Just _fuck off_ ,” shouted Dean. The way he tottered as he turned distinctly reduced the sting of his anger. He was so _tired_. Today was the day that just would _not_ fucking end.

“ _No_ ,” Cas shouted right back. “Listen to me, Dean, you were right to call Jimmy, and he’s really sorry he couldn’t come. I’m sorry I was taken aback that you’d prefer his help to mine, but of _course_ that’s your choice, and it was presumptuous of me to come in his place. However, I’m here now, and I’m just as capable of helping you if you’ll permit me to do so. I appreciate that you’re self-conscious that you let someone use a flogger on you but whoever was striking you clearly went too far. You’re _not okay_. You need medical attention. You’re either getting it from me, here, in the privacy of your home, or I’m calling 911 and you can explain to the EMTs.”

“You’re going to fucking _coerce_ me, Cas?”

“I’m going to give you what you _need_ , Dean,” snarled Cas. “You’re my best friend, and you called my brother for help, and you got me instead. All my damn _life_ I’ve looked the other way when you needed help and I’m _never going to do that again_. So either tell me you’ve got a first aid kit, or I’m getting an ambulance to take you to the hospital.”

The rest of what Cas had said processed all at once. Cas recognized the marks left by a flogger. In no way did Cas sound freaked out or surprised by what he saw. The realization took the wind out of Dean’s sails. It had been hard enough to maintain even the appearance of energy without Cas giving him that look, simultaneously furious and earnest, and making him feel like every secret was laid bare. With a huffed exhalation, Dean’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

 _I need you, Cas, only you, everyone else I’ve turned to has been a surrogate because I_ need _you and I can’t have you, I could never do that to you. I could never burden you with me._

“It’s under the bathroom sink.”

“Thank you.” A smile like a fucking dream come true lit Cas’ features, and Dean was shocked that his heart managed a little flutter of pleasure in response.

“No problem,” Dean said faintly.

“Go lie down, I’ll be there momentarily.”

Unthinkingly, Dean followed the instruction. Before he’d fully processed what he’d done, he was lying on his stomach on the flimsy mattress, polyester comforter scratchy against his skin. His arms at his sides, his legs together, the towel gave him a semblance of modesty. He resisted the temptation to bury his face in the blanket, instead turning to the side so he could watch beside the bed. Footsteps spoke of movement in the other room.

“I’m walking over,” Cas said from nearby. “I’m going to climb on the bed, sit beside you, and apply the ointment to your back. Is that alright with you, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. Cas was treating him like he was a skittish animal. Fucking _great_.

Precisely as described, Dean heard Cas move across the room. There was a pause, two thumps – shoes coming off, he guessed – and then the squeal of protesting springs as Dean’s crappy bed reminded Dean one of the several reasons he never had sex at home. Dean twisted his head to the other side to see Cas, lip caught slightly between his teeth, considering Dean’s repulsive back as if it were a particularly unpleasant puzzle.

“You don’t have to do this,” suggested Dean. Blue eyes fixed Dean’s gaze and held it until he colored. The thought of Cas’ hands on his skin was terrifying.

 _Has he_ ever _touched me?_

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

Cas squeezed a strip of triple antibiotic cream on his fingers, worked it around for a moment, and then gently lowered his hand to Dean’s back. A light brush against one of his cuts stung and he flinched, Cas went still, waiting for Dean to calm.

“I’m fine,” Dean said gruffly, embarrassed that Cas thought such a delicate touch had made him so uncomfortable that Cas needed to stop. What a wimp Cas must think he was! With everything Cas had seen of him over the years, Dean supposed it was inevitable that Cas would draw the conclusion that Dean was pathetically weak. Only Cas had seen Dean’s bruises, only Cas had seen Dean at his absolute worst. That today _wasn’t_ his absolute worst didn’t make him feel better.

_Don’t look at me, Cas. Please don’t look. I don’t want you to see. But I need you to help me._

_God I suck._

Gently, smoothly, Cas eased a line of triple antibiotic cream over the first cut striping Dean’s back. The gel itself didn’t bring relief – it didn’t feel like anything, merely a cool line in the wake of Cas’ touch – but Cas finger, soft against his aching skin, felt wonderful. A shiver trailed down Dean’s spine. He’d dreamed countless of times of having Cas touch him like that, tenderly, caringly, as if he was something precious, as if he were anyone other than Dean Winchester. The hand left, returned moments later with more ointment, anointing another place on his back, and the pain gave way to a tingle of pleasure. Dean’s eyes slipped shut and he lost himself in the sensations. His body was still loose and easy from his hot shower, his aching thoughts desperate for succor, and it felt so nice after the things that had been done to him earlier. He sighed, easing against the mattress. If he was going to have an absolutely fucking _terrible_ day and embarrass the ever-loving shit out of himself in front of his best friend – he’d never be able to look Cas in the eye again – he might as well derive what enjoyment he could from it.

Cas’ hand left again, and Dean felt a tingle of anticipation start at the base of his spine. Every place that hurt had a bizarre overlay of desire interlaced with the pain. Each injury was an invitation for Cas to touch him more, and Dean welcomed the pain for the contrasting pleasure it now promised, even wished he had more cuts for Cas to tend, and knew he was fucking _crazy_ for thinking that. He should resist that temptation, resist the least belief that Cas’ attentions were anything other than imagined intimacy, but he was too tired and too emotionally drained to fight how nice it felt to have someone – to have _Cas_ in particular – take care of him. A happy sigh whispered against the bedding as Cas’ fingers returned, tracing over a third line on his back.

“Is this okay, Dean?” Cas asked. His voice was lower than usual, coarse, thick, and incredibly fricken sexy. To his shock, Dean felt his cock stirring. Thank fucking _God_ for the towel over his ass, covering him from the small of his back down to his knees. Cas already must think Dean was cracked, allowing himself to be beaten bloody, too weak to handle the pain, so stubborn and masochistic that he didn’t seek treatment for his injuries. If Cas knew that anything about their current situation aroused Dean...

 _Feels so nice, Cas_.

His voice. Shit. Yeah, that was his voice, his lips sticking on crappy plastic bed fibers. He’d really fucking said that, he’d fucking said that _out loud_ , he’d really, really fucking said that in that tone that said _sex please now_.

“I’m glad,” was all Cas said in reply, a quaver in his voice. “This angle makes it hard for me to reach some of the cuts, and you’re too close to the edge of the bed for me to shift to that side. Would it be alright if I straddled your hips?”

“That’d be fine,” Dean said.

That was much better than the words in his head, _that’d be fucking hot_.

Cas shifted, the springs protested, and then heat settled over Dean’s thighs lightly, Cas holding most of his weight on his legs.

 _Yeah, that’s fucking hot_. He could imagine Cas’ cock resting over his crack, imagine Cas’ hands gripping his hips, gently urging Dean to rise to meet each thrust, imagine every thrust, imagine the low sounds of passion leaking for Cas’ mouth, Cas moaning his name, telling him how good he was, telling him all the things he wanted to do to Dean’s body, had always wanted to do to Dean’s body.

The faint sound of the gel suctioning free of the tube mercifully interrupted Dean’s wandering thoughts. There was a pause that felt endless, and then both of Cas’ hands were on Dean’s back, spreading antibiotic cream and relief everywhere they roamed. And, yeah, they really roamed. Cas was doing more than just seeing to his open cuts, for some reason he had decided that even the places where Dean had been struck but the skin hadn’t split needed to be treated. Part of Dean thought he should protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Having Cas’ hands on his body felt too good for Dean to object, a literal dream come true after the nightmare of his morning. Cas even gripped his sides, traced the sensitive places along Dean’s waist, teased the top of the bath towel lower to treat the wounds on the small of Dean’s back while sparing some cream for Dean’s dimples, slipped beneath the towel to tend to the unseen lines that Cas, apparently, somehow knew ached along Dean’s ass cheeks.

This couldn’t really be happening.

_That’s right, it’s not. He’s just seeing to your injuries. There’s nothing to this. He’s not doing this because it brings him pleasure or because he wants to, he’s doing it because he’s concerned about your welfare, like any friend would be if they saw what he’d seen. He’s doing this because he’s a fucking saint, the same reason he always does nice things for me._

“You’re so strong, Dean,” breathed Cas.

“ ‘m not,” Dean mouthed against the bed. Drowsiness and heat suffused his body, left him fuzzed out in the best possible way. Cas’ hands disappeared, and a needy whimper leaked free of Dean. Cheeks heating fricken _crimson_ , he managed to transform the sound into the semblance of a yawn.

“You are,” Cas repeated stubbornly. “I’ve used a flogger on partners at times.” The clinical, detached way Cas spoke was his standard approach to handling profound embarrassment. Dean couldn’t bring himself to be amazed, too tired, too relieved, too comforted, too turned on, to be anything other than bemused and aroused by this revelation about his “vanilla” best friend. Cas’ hands fell on his shoulders, twinges of pain scattered through Dean, tensing him. “Based on the injuries to your wrists and ankles, I assume you were tied up, correct? How were you bound, Dean?”

“Not having this conversation with you,” Dean tried to muster defiance, to protect what little privacy he had left, but his effort was dilatory.

_Thanks for giving a damn, Cas._

“I need to know to be sure I don’t hurt you,” explained Cas, soothing over his shoulder blades to ease him again. Pleasure scattered from the touches that served no purpose other than to relax Dean, and yeah, Dean was mortifyingly hard against the bed. Panic thrilled through him. If Cas found out, he’d never live it down.

“Spread eagle,” Dean confessed succinctly. Thinking about his morning cooled his ardor instantly, combined with his nerves and left him going soft again as soon as he’d fully hardened.

“Ankles and arms bound to the corners of the bed?” Dean nodded into the bedding, wishing he could meld with it and disappear rather than have to say anything. “Hemp rope?” Nod. “Fairly taut?” Nod. “Are your shoulders and hips strained?” Flushing, he nodded again. “Who _did_ this to you, Dean?” Dean glowered. “No, don’t tell me, it’s none of my business. Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to. There’s just so much I want to say right now, and it’s...it’s not the moment.” _It will never be the moment. So not having that conversation_ ever. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Dean. Ignore me. I can help with the joint strains, if you don’t mind.” Cas sounded breathless, his voice husky and tight with self-restraint. “Do you have any Icy Hot?”

“Yeah, in the medicine cabinet,” Dean supplied.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

The loss of Cas’ heat over his hips was more devastating than Dean would ever have cared to admit.

_Stop being a dirt bag. He’s your friend. Sure, he’s gay, and I’m…whatever I am, bi or some shit…but there’s nothing here. There’s nothing physical between us except a lifetime of entirely one-sided wet dreams._

A shudder ran through him, sparking painful twinges. Unlike earlier, when the agony had been so overwhelming he could feel nothing else, now the small aches swirled together with pleasure and lifted him higher, built him up, infused him with euphoria and left him floating disconnected from his body, yet he still felt so good, so real, so grounding that he yearned for more of each, craved the combination. His cock hardened further as he imagined Cas’ return, Cas massaging Icy Hot into Dean’s shoulders, his elbows, his knees, imagined Cas baring his hips, working cream around his aching hips and ass, imagined Cas seeing his erection, imagined Cas’ reaction.

_“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” Even at the best of times, Cas’ voice was deep enough to be erotic, but as Dean now learned, when Cas was turned on, the raspy undertone, the low growl at the back of his throat, was pure fucking sex._

_“Tell me what you’ve wanted,” Dean breathed, panting with expectation and desire._

_Hands worked relief into the line where Dean’s legs hit his pelvis, nudged gently on his inner thighs, and Dean spread his legs. Hands slipped between, encouraged Dean to widen the gap further, brushed tauntingly over his balls, rubbed lotion over the smooth skin of his perineum, stopped short of his pucker. The medicated cream spread cold and then turned hot, and Dean moaned at the sensation, moaned again as Cas hands cupped his ass, pushed his cheeks together, spread them apart, stretched his pucker, left burning cold handprints on his flesh._

_“What do_ you _want, Dean?”_

_“You,” confessed Dean. A thumb flicked over his entrance and he groaned. “Always wanted you, Cas. Never thought I could have you. Want your hands. Want your mouth. Want your cock.” The finger pressed in and Dean shuddered, mingled pain and pleasure and gratification after waiting so damn long for this, waiting a lifetime for this._

_“And if I want to give that to you?”_

_“Yeah, Cas...yeah...please...”_

Dean shuddered as shards of bliss scattered through him, rough fabric rubbing against his erection as he rutted against the towel, dragging his aching hardness over it in slight, fucking _fantastic_ movements.

_Fuck me, Cas. I need you._

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, Cas.”

Mortification flooded him. _Great job, Winchester, he’s probably standing right behind you, looking at you like you’re a fucking pervert. Because you’re a fucking pervert. He’s your_ best friend. _And you’re Dean Winchester._ Lifting himself on his elbows, he glanced over his shoulder. His fears were unfounded. Cas wasn’t back from the bathroom yet.

Which was, come to think of it, kind of weird.

“Cas, having trouble finding the Icy Hot?” Dean called. “It’s a generic, you know, like Menthol Methyl something or other, from CVS.”

There was no answer. Cas probably had to take a piss, too, but hadn’t bothered to say anything. That would be totally like Cas, to use getting the medicine as a cover for his need to take a leak. The thought made Dean smile. Cas’ discomfort with the necessaries was endlessly endearing to Dean.

Keeping a lookout behind him, Dean reached down and wrapped a hand over his leaking cock. “ _Fuck_ , yeah,” he whispered, shocked at how a mere grip on himself could feel so damn good. Nothing got him hard like imagining Cas, picturing Cas wanting him, imagining Cas mounting him and taking him. Biting back a moan at the crush of mental images, Dean smeared his grip with pre-come, and used his barely-lubricated hand to stroke himself. A moan whispered from his lips as Dean was overcome by how good it felt. The terror that Cas would catch him at any moment only drove him higher.

 _Fuck it, let him see, let him see how much I want him, let him say my name in that fucking_ voice _, let him tell me we’re fucking through, then I’ll finally be free of how much wanting him_ hurts.

“ _Dean_!”

Yeah, just like that.

Forcing his hand away from himself, torn between all-consuming embarrassment, pain, and desire, Dean sat up.

Cas wasn’t there.

“You good, Cas?” he shouted.

The moment stretched out, no answer, not another sound, not the medicine cabinet being open and closed, not the toilet being flushed, nothing. Concern overcame Dean’s reticence, and he rose, bound the towel securely around his waist, and hoped his erection wasn’t _too_ prominent as he made his way to the bathroom.

“Cas, you okay in there?” Dean asked the closed door. There was _still_ no answer. There was no way Cas hadn’t heard. Growing genuinely worried that something had happened to him, Dean knocked. The door jarred and then slid open easily under the force of Dean’s blows.

“Dean!” gasped Cas.

Cas, who stood gripping the sink with one white-knuckled hand, gripping his cock with the other. Cas, whose fly was dropped, the white of underwear visible through the gap. Cas, whose hand worked eagerly over his fucking _gorgeous_ red-flushed, leaking length, his back hunched over himself. Cas, who stared at Dean with the most intense embarrassment Dean had ever seen on his face.

“Oh.”

“Dean,” Cas choked, failing at even the barest semblance of self-control, cheeks almost purple with shame. “God, I’m sorry, I just…you just…I thought…I’ll be right back…just…leave, please leave, I’ll explain.”

“No.”

 _God he is so fucking_ beautiful.

Dean’s body might hurt, and his thoughts might be sluggish, and his day might have fucking sucked on ice, but all of that faded before the single most important question: why was Cas hard?

“Seriously, this is…” Cas gulped. “ _Please_ , Dean…I know exactly how inappropriate my behavior is right now...I don’t want to cause you further discomfort…”

Dean knew why _Dean_ was hard. Dean was fucking _desperate_ because Cas, fucking _gorgeous, brilliant, perfect_ Castiel Novak, had spent fricken 20 minutes mounted over Dean’s ass, massaging his back, soothing away Dean’s pain, had spent close on an hour touching him, when they never touched, when Dean had craved that touch for-fucking-ever.

“You haven’t caused me any discomfort. You’re not causing me any discomfort.”

Why was _Cas_ hard? What had happened that would get Cas so desperate that he had to retreat to the bathroom to jerk off? They weren’t teenagers, they were fricken 28, shit like this wasn’t _normal_.

“I…” Cas licked his lips, and Dean’s cock bobbed eagerly at the suggestion. Cas noticed the shift in the towel covering Dean and his lust-blown eyes widened. “I haven’t? I’m not?” Cas’ hand gave a half-hearted stroke on his cock and Dean stared, mesmerized by the red length peaking out of Cas’ grip, the thick liquid gathered at Cas’ tip. When he tore his eyes away, Cas was staring at him in open amazement.

 _This isn’t happening. This isn’t really happening_.

“You said my name,” Dean said, tone borderline accusatory. “I heard it from the bedroom.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Cas. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

With his hand around his cock, Cas had moaned _Dean_ to the indifferent porcelain sink. Cas had gotten hard administering Dean’s goddamn _flogging_ wounds. Cas was so desperate for relief after touching Dean’s bare back that he had to go to the bathroom to masturbate.

 _This can’t be happening_.

Dean dropped to his knees, staring up at Cas.

 _I might get to have this. Even just once, I might get to have what I really want_.

Cas gasped in shock and matched Dean’s stare, the beautiful blue of Cas’ eyes swamped by liquid black.

_That never happens. This is another dream. This is another fantasy._

Holding Cas’ eyes with his own, Dean shifted forward.

 _God, Cas, how do you always know_ exactly _what I need?_

“Dean…”

Dean’s breath stuttered, his heart raced. The fantasy was familiar to him, he’d had it more times than he could count, so many times as he’d been with other men and imagined the only man he truly wanted. His cock throbbed and bobbed in time to each heartbeat. His pain was forgotten, his aches were gone. This was Dean’s fantasy, he didn’t feel anything that wasn’t part of that impossible dream.

“Dean, what are you…?”

Worshipfully, with all the desire he’d nursed for half a lifetime, Dean wrapped his lips around the head of Cas’ cock and sucked a kiss on the tip. Pre-come diffused into his mouth, tangy and musky, a hint of citrus, a hint of spice, and Dean sighed happily and flicked his tongue against Cas’ slit, teasing out more.

“Stop,” said Cas’ strangled voice. The fantasy snapped in an instant and Dean jerked back, burning ache dragging him further down to earth. In his dreams, Cas _never_ told Dean to stop. “Stop, Dean. You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything. You’re a sub, right? I get it, okay, I get it. You’ve had a rough day, and you want to show that you appreciate my help, but you don’t have to pleasure me just because I want you. It’s alright. I’ll help you for nothing, it’s enough to know that you feel better, it’s enough to be able to _finally_ be able to care for you.”

 _I want you_. Dean growled deep in his throat. There were tears in Cas’ eyes, sympathy and apprehension painting his face.

“Say it again,” demanded Dean.

“Huh?” Cas’ jaw went slack with confusion, eyes somehow widening even more. God, they were so blue, so beautiful. Cas looked fucking _amazing_ with his face painted flush with desire, his pupils huge with lust, his mouth just begging for a kiss, for an exploring tongue.

“Say you want me,” Dean was shocked at his own insistence, but he _needed_. Cas had said it. The _real_ Cas had _really_ said Dean’s name in that gorgeous voice, had undeniably confessed his desire even as he told Dean to stop. It wasn’t a fantasy. “Say it again.”

“I want you, Dean,” moaned Cas.

 _This_ is _really happening_

“Again!” God, that was the most fucking amazing thing he’d ever heard, hands down, not a single other competitor in the running. He’d never get tired of hearing that.

“I want you so much, Dean.” The confession sounded ripped from Cas as he panted, Cas’ grip on his cock tensing and relaxing as he held himself back. Dean groaned softly and leaned in to place another sucking kiss over Cas’ leaking tip, and Cas whimpered, he actually fucking _whimpered_ , and Dean thought he might lose his damn mind, might come with only the faint teasing of the terrycloth against his erection.

“Tell me what you want,” Dean insisted, pulling away.

“Blow me, Dean,” Cas begged. “God, _please_ , blow me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” exclaimed Dean triumphantly. He pulled Cas’ hand away from his Cas’ cock, ignored Cas’ distressed mewl, wrapped his hands around Cas’ clothed ass, and fucking _enveloped_ Cas’ dick with his mouth, taking him deep in one smooth motion.

“ _Dean_!” Cas sobbed, knees shaking, hips thrumming with the effort of not fucking into Dean’s mouth.

 _I’m giving this to him. He wants me. This is really Cas’ cock in my mouth. Cas wants me. I am really making him feel so good. Castiel fucking Novak wants_ me _._ _God, he tastes good. I want him to, fuck do I want him, fuck have I_ always _wanted him. God, he fits in my mouth fucking_ perfectly.

Long, thick, Cas’ cock filled Dean’s circled lips, rested heavily on his tongue, as Dean took him so deep that Cas’ head bumped the back of Dean’s throat. Cas gave a wordless cry of pleasure and Dean drew away, laving every inch with his tongue as he did. When only the head was left, he sucked hard, drinking in _Cas_ , pure, straight from the source, and he hummed a delighted, satisfied note.

Cas’ hand fell on Dean’s head, palmed his hair, fingers clenching and relaxing against his scalp, as Cas moaned long and low. Encouraged, Dean took him deep again, withdrew slowly again, adored every sound he teased free, savored every drop of release he won.  To the accompaniment of Cas’ desperate breathing, Dean picked up a rhythm, working over the head, licking, kissing, sucking, and Cas trembled around him, his hand shaking, his cock throbbing against Dean’s lips.

“Going to come,” gasped Cas. “Dean, you don’t have to…don’t have to…”

Dean took his mouth from Cas’ cock, immediately missing the taste and thickness, and Cas moaned with combined pleasure and deprivation. “Want to,” snapped Dean, his voice raspy and low. Instantly, his mouth was back over Cas’ cock.

“Oh _God_ ,” Cas cried. His hips rolled forward, he drove into Dean’s willing mouth even as his release burst free, streaking over Dean’s tongue, down his throat. Cas pulled out, stuttered another thrust, another burst of come. Effortlessly, with long-practiced skill, Dean swallowed every drop, milking more free, working Cas through his orgasm, extending it, drawing forth more and more of Cas’ bitter semen, sweetened with musk and citrus and spice. He’d never tasted anything so marvelous, it was fucking _perfect_ , because it had come from _Cas_ , come because Cas had wanted _him_.

“You...you could stop...” whispered Cas.

Humming disagreement, Dean continued, forcing free more drops even as Cas began to soften between his lips. Whimpering, Cas surrendered, and Dean teased at Cas until he was flaccid. With a wet smack, Dean removed his mouth, let Cas’ cock fall limply against his pants, and settled back on his heels, breathing hard. Arousal raged through his veins, and his mouth tasted like Cas.

“I…have wanted to do that…since the day I met you…” managed Dean. His cock ached for contact, but he didn’t touch it. This wasn’t about him. This was about Cas, what Cas wanted, what Cas needed, and Dean’s ability to give Cas pleasure.

“You _have_?” The exhausted lust in Cas’ voice was very satisfying to hear, and it was tinged with wonder and shock.

“Fuck, have I…” agreed Dean fervently.

“You never said anything…” Cas trailed off. Chancing a look at Cas’ face, their gazes met, Cas’ expression bizarre, soft, relaxed. Dean didn’t understand what he was seeing, didn’t dare assign the word he wanted to _– tender_ – and so instead, he shrugged and put on a cocky grin, pretended he wasn’t profoundly affected by that look, by this conversation, by having Cas in his mouth, by hearing Cas say that he wanted Dean.

_Need you._

“Neither did you.”

_This is a dream. Definitely a dream._

“No…I guess I didn’t,” Cas sounded faint, and Dean grew uncomfortable under his scrutiny, averting his eyes, looking towards the pile of his clothing still on the bathroom floor, black cloth hiding the tell-tale stains. His stomach curdled, but before his thoughts could turn dark, there was a thump next to him, Cas dropping to his knees before him. Hands came to rest on Dean’s cheeks, raised his head. “I thought you didn’t want me.” Cas brushed his nose against Dean’s, a light bump that should have been ridiculous and instead was adorable, so fucking, weirdly _Cas_ that it dispelled every distraction. There was nothing but the blue-eyed vision of perfection sitting opposite him. “You were always so…you.” Tilting his head, Cas licked his lips. “May I kiss you, Dean?” Dean gave the slightest of nods, and Cas mouthed a faint kiss over Dean’s mouth and then stopped, waited to see how Dean would react.

“Always wanted you, Cas,” confessed Dean. “ _Always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of Jimmy finding Cas to help Dean, I suspect the actual information that Jimmy communicated to Cas was, "I TOLD DEAN I WAS GETTING LAID WITH TWINS AND HE JUST SAID, LIKE, WHATEVER. SOMETHING IS WRONG. SOMETHING IS SO, SO, WRONG. HELP HIM, BROTHER."
> 
> Finding a place to do a chapter break was a bitch. This one is less than ideal, honestly, but it's the best I could spot without going quite a few pages further, and I wanted to get something posted relatively early today, cause I felt terrible about where I left things last night. (Though I cancelled my weekend plans so I might get this story done tomorrow or Sunday...)
> 
> So if you're reading this at the point AFTER the next chapter is posted? Seriously, just pretend there's no chapter break. There wouldn't be if I could help it. :)
> 
> I also want to take a moment and talk about Dean, just so ya'll know my thinking here. You may have noticed his mood is a little all over the place? This was an intentional choice by me, considering the day he's had so far, how vulnerable he is after what Alastair did to him, how much the things he wants are at odds with what he feels he's allowed to have. This is going to continue going forward, so just...keep it in mind, and don't forget that this all happening *the same day* that Alastair violated him and Dean ended their "relationship" over it.
> 
> Probably another chapter today? Depends if I can find another stopping point that makes sense, or if I end up pressing forward writing new stuff. (you've got about two-thirds of what I've got written so far...so yeah, it's looking more like four chapters, and longer than 20k, shock, shock...I suck at not being verbose...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to leave y'all hanging, so here, have a short update. I'm hoping to finish the story tomorrow. (to tell a guilty secret, I didn't write a lick today, just gave this a little bit of spit and polish and posted it... :) )

With a shuddering, happy sigh, Cas pressed their lips together, his fingers gently massaging Dean’s cheeks as Cas’ mouth gently worked against his. Heaven, as it turned out, was gentle, tender, caring, slow, no tongue needed, no roughness or aggression, just the satisfaction of having his mouth against Cas’ after waiting 15 fricken years to feel those soft, pink lips against his. Light-headedness swept over Dean, and he swooned back from the kiss. The hands on his cheeks tensed and caught him, and Dean opened his eyes to see Cas watching him with earnest concern.

“Dean, I’d like to take care of you, if I may,” Cas said tentatively.

“S’ok, I’m fine,” lied Dean. “Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

Cas pressed their foreheads together, his breath hot and sweet against Dean’s face. “Never lie to me, Dean. Wherever we go, whatever this becomes, even if it’s just today…promise me you’ll never lie to me.”

 _I was right all along. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Castiel fricken Novak doesn’t want Dean Winchester. Once is one thing. Once is an accident. Once is regrettable. By tomorrow he’ll regret ever suggesting that we might do this again sometime_.

“I _swear_ , Dean, I will never lie to you,” Cas continued. “I won’t promise to always tell you everything, but anything I tell you will be the truth.”

An angry voice won through the fog in Dean’s thoughts. How dare Cas promise him anything when they both knew this was bull, the impulse of a moment. How dare Cas offer him care, offer him comfort, offer him help? Who the _fuck_ was Castiel Novak to say such things to Dean? Only his best friend, only a man who’d been by his side for years, who’d never suggested even _once_ that he wanted anything more from Dean than friendship. It was a fluke.

No, it was worse, it was so much worse than that. Cas wasn’t turned on by Dean until Cas saw Dean with his back a crisscross mess of red slashes and cuts. Cas was turned on by Dean’s injuries. Cas was fucking _Alastair_.

Lips were on Dean’s again, desperate, but he couldn’t bring himself to return the kiss. “No, please no,” murmured Cas, breaking off the kiss. “Don’t pull away from me now, Dean. I know it’s not great circumstances, but I _know_ , I finally _know_ , and I don’t want to lose you before I ever had you. Isn’t it enough that we’ve waited this long?”

“Yeah?” said Dean roughly, pulling away. The hurt in Cas’ eyes cut Dean as deeply as his wounds, hurt just as badly as Dean’s protesting, stiffening joints. “Why, Cas? Why now? What the fuck changed in the last hour that hasn’t been true for 15 fucking years?”

“Mostly my self-control,” explained Cas awkwardly. “Usually, I can wait to masturbate until after you leave. But I’m not used to seeing you like this.”

“You mean when my back’s been cut open by a fucking flogger?” snapped Dean sarcastically.

“No! It’s not like that.” Cas settled back on his heels, dropping his hands from Dean’s face, running fingers through his utterly disheveled mess of hair. “Okay. That’s inaccurate. It’s kind of like that. We need to talk. Maybe we could go somewhere more comfortable for you? You could put some clothes on? I could help you with that…?” Cas made a vague gesture at the dwindling tent of Dean’s towel.

“If you want to talk, talk,” grunted Dean.

“Okay,” Cas ran his hand through his hair again. “Okay. We can talk here, if you prefer. I’m not a sadist, Dean, I’m a dom.” Dean blinked in shock. “…and you’re a sub?” Dean nodded slowly. “God, that’s unbelievably hot,” Cas muttered, and Dean flushed at the raw desire in his voice, his anger dissipating in the face of the thoughts floating through his head, what it might be like to have Cas controlling him, telling him what to do, instructing him, taking him. “I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now. Those wounds are fresh – today, I’d guess?” Cas didn’t wait for confirmation. “Whoever whipped you was trying to hurt you. Further, they didn’t see to your injuries at all. I’d never _leave_ you like that. I would never hurt you unless you wanted me to. Heck, even if you wanted me to, I’d never strike you until you bled. That’s one of the things I’m not comfortable with. What are things you’re not comfortable with, Dean?”

“You want to scene with me?” asked Dean incredulously. “You want to be my dom? After I told you off?”

“Dean,” Cas rolled his eyes. “You _always_ lash out when you feel vulnerable. It’s alright. I don’t mind. Heck, I’m used to it. So, if you’d rather have this talk on the bathroom floor, and you’d rather have it now, and you’d rather you be wearing a towel and my dick be hanging out of my pants, fine, we’ll do it like this. I don’t mind. I really, _really_ want to take care of you the way you’ve always taken care of me, and before I can do that there are things we have to talk about it, so let’s talk about them.”

Cas was gorgeous. Cas was his friend. Cas wanted him. Cas was a dom. Cas wanted Dean to be his sub.

What the frackin’ _fuck_ was going on today?

“Is this really happening?” whispered Dean.

 _It couldn't be, because this kind of shit didn't_ happen _to him._

“I  don’t believe it either,” Cas confessed, coloring. “I show up at your apartment expecting…I don’t even know, a dead body or something, and instead you answer the door after like five minutes of my knocking and you’re half naked, and look like you spent half the day crying, when I’ve _never_ seen you cry except that one time when we watched ‘A League of Their Own’ and you made me promise never to talk about that. Next thing I know, there’s those burns on your wrists and ankles and the marks on your back and all I could think was _holy crap Dean’s a sub_. Even with how long I’ve wanted you it honestly never occurred to me that you and I might share that, no matter how often I dreamed of it, because I have, I’ve dreamed about you endlessly Dean, fantasized, planned scenes picturing _you_ instead of whoever I was with at the time, and it was always completely out of reach. The things I started to think…but you were hurt, and I was being selfish, so I pushed it away, _keep it professional, Novak_ , and told myself that I’m a damn _adult_ and I can put aside my own desires, reminded myself that some _asshole_ had denied you after care and _yes_ that was something I could really, truly do for you, reminded myself that your needs came first.”

Cas was babbling. _Cas_ was babbling.

“But then I started, and you just relaxed under my hand, _God_ , you were trembling, I could feel your anticipation even when I wasn’t touching you, I could swear you whimpered as I rubbed your skin, you were so hard and yet so soft, so beautiful even when you were hurt, so _strong_ even though you were in pain, _God_ , you’re _spectacular_ , Dean, and all I could think was all the things we could do together, all the unbelievable things you must be capable of, and I just couldn’t, I’m sorry, I needed you so much and that wasn’t right, I can’t even imagine what your morning was like, and the things I was thinking, and…”

 _He’s just as affected by this as I am_.

“…I’d never treat you like that. I’d never tie you so tightly it burned your flesh, I’d never whip you, I’d never make you suffer. If those are things you want, things you truly want, then I guess this won’t work, because I refuse to hurt you. But _God_ , I’d love to control you, I’d like to have you naked on your knees for me, doing what I tell you, only what I tell you. Watching you with your lips around me was amazing, watching you flushed and needy but not touching yourself drove me wild, oh, _Dean_ , I can’t even, I can’t…” Cas’ mouth opened and closed helplessly, chest heaving as he panted, and he raked fingers through his hair once more. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all this from me, not now, maybe not ever. We’re not there yet. I understand.”

“No watersports or scat or, like, bathroom _anything_ ,” said Dean in a rush. “Other than that, if you want it, I’ll do it.”

 _For you, Cas. For you I’d do anything. Put me in fucking_ diapers _, if you want, I’m yours, I’ve always been yours. If somehow you really want me, use me, for now, for as long as you can stand to have me around, until you realize how much better you can do._

“Is that what you said to the person who whipped you?” There was an edge of anger to Cas’ words suddenly, and Dean grimaced.

_Yeah, sure enough, that didn’t last. He’s already mad at me._

“And if I did?” said Dean challengingly.

“Did you enjoy what was done to you this morning?” Blue eyes caught Dean’s, held him frozen, a note of command in Cas’ voice that Dean found impossible to resist.

“No,” muttered Dean.

“Did you get off on it?”

“I didn’t even get hard,” Dean admitted, ashamed, staring at his lap.

“Did the person you were with take your enjoyment into consideration?” The hardness in Cas’ voice increased, and Dean colored, compelled to answer even though he knew, intellectually, they didn’t have any actual agreements in place. The line between his best friend and his dom was already thinning. If his _friend_ Cas asked him these questions, Dean would tell him to go fuck himself. If Dean’s dom asked him such a question, his answer was required.

“He didn’t give a shit.” muttered Dean. A sharp intake of breath drew Dean’s gaze up, to the fury setting Cas’ eyes aglow, tensed his hands into fists. “This isn’t gonna work, is it…”

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” snarled Cas. “How _dare_ he not appreciate your obedience? How _dare_ he not be the one taking care of you afterwards? How—?”

“I didn’t give him a chance,” Dean interrupted hastily, desperate to break the tension straining on his nerves, making him feel like he’d fucked up royally, frightening him that a blow was coming at any moment. “As soon as he untied me, I told him we were through and left.”

“Good! Because you didn’t like it?”

“Because I didn’t like it,” Dean confirmed.

“Then why did you let the scene continue?” Dean grimaced. “You didn’t – you safe worded?” Relief broke through Cas’ anger, and Dean looked away again. “You didn’t…” Confusion replaced the relief.

“Wearing a ball gag,” Dean supplied. His breath started to come in pants, he couldn’t get enough air.

_His hand tapping the plastic, the unpleasant way it stuck to his sweaty palm as he slapped it again and again._

“…surely you set up a signal, if you weren’t able to talk? Or held a buzzer?”

_“What’s that, Dean? I can’t hear you.”_

Dean’s heart raced, fear clutching his stomach.

_Stop, stop, you have to stop, I need you to stop, this is too much, it’s much too much, I can’t..._

“He ignored it,” Cas’ voice was tight with rage. “You tried to get him to stop, and he ignored you, didn’t he.”

_I should be angry, I should be furious, I should be…_

Dean felt sick with shame.

_I let myself be tied up. I let Alastair hurt me. He didn’t do anything I didn’t consent to, didn’t do anything he hadn’t done previous scenes that I accepted, didn’t do things that hadn’t gotten me off prior, didn’t do anything I didn’t deserve. This is my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ll disobey Cas, too. He won’t want me as a sub, a sub who safe worded over a little bleeding, a sub who won’t be whatever he wants them to be._

“ _Didn’t he_!” Cas slapped a hand against the tile of the wall, the sound loud and sharp in the small room, and Dean quailed.

In an instant, arms were around him, carefully skirting his wounds, one around his shoulder, one around his hips, and Cas whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m not angry with you, I could never be angry with you, not for something like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean. Whether I’m your dom or your friend, I will _not_ hurt you, I will _never_ ignore you if you ask me to stop doing _anything_. If you decide you want to scene with me, I will do whatever I have to in order to win your trust, take as long as you need to feel comfortable again. I’m sorry I frightened you. It was wrong of me.” The hand on his shoulder trailed gently along his skin, shivering Dean’s body, and he felt wetness dribbling down his cheek before he realized his eyes were swimming.

_Get off me, don’t touch me, I’m disgusting, why are you apologizing, it’s not your fault, it’s mine, it’s all mine..._

“It hurt, Cas,” Dean whispered, biting his lip hard against a sob.

_...God, I’m pathetic._

“Dean,” Cas murmured helplessly. “I can’t fix it, I’m so sorry. All I can do is try to give you the care you deserve. Would you let me do that?”

“Don’t deserve that.” Try as he might, Dean couldn’t make himself stop crying, and he hated himself for it. Just like his father had always said, Dean was no kind of man, weeping like a little bitch because someone had bloodied him slightly.

“Of _course_ you do.”

“Don’t,” muttered Dean, shaking his head against Cas’ neck and shoulder. Tears splattered from his eyes.

“If I’m your dom, then I decide what you deserve,” Cas said firmly, tracing fingers over Dean’s clavicle, around to the back of his neck, into his hair, easing Dean’s head against Cas’ shoulder. “Would you like that, Dean?”

Dean hiccoughed and nodded jerkily, tears falling more thickly.

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’d like that a lot.”

_Cas promised to tell me the truth. He’ll tell me if I’ve fucked up. I just have to believe him. I’ve always believed him._

“So would I.”

Aching muscles protested, but Dean forced them to obey, lifting his arms, wrapping them around Cas, pulling their bodies closer together. Cas gently guided Dean sideways, shifting their legs until he could cradle Dean in one arm, murmuring in his ear, “it’s alright, I won’t hurt you, I’ll take care of you,” and even as he felt like a fucking idiot, Dean wept harder and harder, he couldn’t help it. Cas wanted him. It was impossible, yet it was happening. If he’d known that was even a possibility, he’d have…he’d have…

…he wouldn’t have done a damn thing. He’d never have taken the chance of Cas turning him away. The rejection would have killed him.

Still would, come to that.

“I’ve got you now,” whispered Cas. “I’m not letting you go, not now that I know you want me, too, not now that I know you need me.”

“I do,” a sob ripped from him, and Dean muffled his face against Cas’ chest. “I need you. It’s why I came to California, why I’m always at your place. Can’t do this without you, Cas.”

“I know. Now I know.” Cas smoothed Dean’s hair away from his forehead, brushed his lips over Dean’s skin. “I need you too, Dean. I always have. Before you came to California, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d meet people, and they were great, but none of them were _you_ , and no one could hold my interest. I’d have called you every damn night if I’d thought you’d have answered.”

“I’d have answered. I’d do anything for you, Cas.”

The pain and the guilt and the embarrassment and the pleasure overwhelmed him, and Dean cried. Cas wanted him. That simple thought, and everything it implied, drowned out everything else. Cas was a dom, and Cas would take care of him, and Cas would tell him the absolute truth, and Cas would decide what Dean deserved. Others had attempted similar but it hadn’t mattered much, none of them had known Dean well enough to have a clue what he deserved, none of them had been any good at figuring what he needed. Cas held him and whispered platitudes in his ear, “it wasn’t your fault, you’re perfect, I’m going to take care of you now, I can’t believe you want me, Dean, can’t believe you want this too. You’re amazing, you’re gorgeous, and I’m going to give you everything you deserve.”

When others had said shit like that to Dean, it had reeked of bullshit, but when Cas said it? It felt like fucking _salvation_. Dean grabbed hold of the words with ever fiber of his being, wrapped himself in them, donned them like armor against every cruel truth his thoughts whispered to him. Secure in Cas’ arms, Dean cried as he’d never let himself cry before. “It’s alright Dean, you’re alright, because I’ve got you, I’ve finally got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I’ll protect you, I should have stepped up and protected you ages ago, should have said something ages ago, but I was afraid, and I’m so sorry I left you alone because of something so selfish. It won’t happen again, it’ll never happen again. I...I need you, Dean, I need you.” The words finally trailed off as the shaking in Dean’s shoulders began to slow, to reduce, and then with an enormous sniff, Dean pulled himself away. Cas watched him, bemused, his rimmed in tears, lips quirked in a faint, caring smile.

“Well, that was mortifying,” Dean mumbled.

The smile widened, and an idle thought in Dean’s washed-out mind suggested that Cas might be the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Nix that. Cas was, hands down, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Reaching up and grabbing the hand towel from the rack, Cas used it to wipe Dean’s cheeks, even held it up for Dean to blow his nose.

“That was _also_ mortifying.”

“How do you feel?” asked Cas.

“Fantastic,” said Dean, rolling his eyes. 

“If you’re up for it, I could take care of you now,” said Cas. Hesitant, feeling weirdly disconnected from his tingling cheeks, his aches and pains, feeling strangle divided from the moment and the reality of what was happening, Dean looked up. Cas smiled at him shyly.

_No, I don’t need anything, I don’t need anyone, I can do this on my own, I don’t need help, I don’t deserve any of this._

_...It’s_ Cas _._

“Yeah,” said Dean slowly. “Yeah, I, uh, I’d like that Cas.”

“Okay,” Cas took a deep breath. “Here, let me help you up.” The extent to which Dean appreciated that Cas didn’t ask him if he needed help, didn’t ask Dean if he could stand alone, was indescribable. He couldn’t have gotten up without Cas, and Cas just _knew_ , that he needed help, that he couldn’t ask for it. Taking Dean’s hand, Cas rose, reached down for Dean’s other arm, and together got Dean to his feet. The towel fell away, and for the first time since they were teenagers, Dean stood before Cas completely naked, but it wasn’t his nudity that caused him to feel exposed, it was the tears he had shed, the things he had said. Even when he was subbing he didn’t show himself so completely. Sometimes after sex, he was able to suggest things that he might need, but they hadn’t had sex.

Of course, he _had_ had sex that day. He’d been with Alastair, he’d been exposed and wracked and left wide open and vulnerable, and if he was honest with himself he knew he hadn’t gotten _anything_ he needed from that scene. Even the punishment hadn’t satisfied the gnawing need to pay for his sins. All it had done was left him ragged and shattered, and Cas had come and picked up his pieces, put him back together without hardly trying. With growing wonder, Dean glanced at his friend. There was a considering look to Cas, his body language relaxed, his head quirked slightly as he assessed Dean’s appearance.

“Go lie on the bed on your stomach,” Cas said with gentle, undeniable command. Dean shivered, unable to help himself, anticipation already beginning to gather, which was seriously some kind of voodoo mojo shit because with the way the day had gone, horny was the _last_ way Dean should feel. Despite that, there was something in Cas’ voice, the way the rasp felt like a touch on his skin, the way there was an unmistakable order and communicated the clear expectation of being obeyed, the fact that it was _Cas_ , that made Dean want all the things he’d never dreamed he could have.

One aching, stiff step at a time, Dean left the bathroom, crossed to his bedroom, and settled himself on the bed, his chest pressed to the polyester. Air stirred over his skin, his back throbbed dull pain in time to his heartbeat, and his head felt thick, his thoughts slow, repeating the same few phrases over and over again.

_Cas wants me. This isn’t really happening. What am I doing here? Dreams don’t come true. Good things don’t happen to me. I don’t deserve them. I don’t get the things I want. I want Cas. Cas wants me..._

The simple words were bizarrely calming, and Dean eased against the mattress, arms at his side, legs together, head turned to the side, just as before. His breathing evened, his heart beat steadily, and though his disbelief was thick, his body at least seemed on board with the possibility that all of this was very real, his skin tingled in anticipation, thrummed at the memory of Cas applying triple antibiotic cream to his back.

That was probably the least sexy thing he’d _ever_ thought. Apparently, once Cas was involved, virtually anything became sexy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the awkward stop point...it's really the best option I've got...this story does NOT lend itself to chapters well...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...I'm having massive writers angst about this chapter. So, I hope y'all like it cause I have like zero confidence in it.
> 
> Sorry it's a day late - my morning yesterday went a little off the deep end, there were cops involved (it was where I work, I'm fine, it wasn't even that big a deal, but it got my adrenaline going and I had trouble concentrating the rest of the day).
> 
> Enjoy!

Soft footsteps marked Cas’ approach over the thin carpet.

“May I touch your shoulder?” Cas said softly. 

“Yeah,” said Dean, surprised that Cas asked, surprised that Cas didn’t simply take what he wanted now that Dean had agreed to submit to his control. A hand came to lay on Dean’s upper arm, a burst of warmth that flowed from the touch through his bloodstream. He sighed out, the breath easing him further.

“Would you mind turning your face towards me?” Cas asked.

“You know that if you tell me what to do, I’ll do it, right?” Dean countered. “That’s kinda what this whole ‘yes I’ll be your sub’ thing means.’ ”

“I’m well aware, Dean,” said Cas with utter confidence. “I’m choosing not to. It’s not for you to question when I choose to give orders versus when I choose to make requests of you. It is for you to answer honestly if I ask, and to do as I say if I command, and to keep silent unless bidden.” A shiver Dean couldn’t repress trailed through his whole body. Yeah, that was _perfect_.

“No, I don’t mind turning towards you,” Dean grinned.

“Would you do so, please?” A faint hint of exasperation leaked into Cas’ voice, but when Dean complied and turned to look at him, there was not a hint of anything but happiness on his face, happiness that subtly increased when he saw Dean smiling. Cas knelt beside the bed, looking into Dean’s eyes, expression calm, equilibrium restored. With his head pressed against the blankets, all Dean could see was Cas’ shoulders, his undershirt stained with lines of sweat, and his head. Cas’ blue gaze was so grounding, so consuming, it was wonderful. It was utterly unclear to him what exactly Cas had in mind, what ‘taking care of Dean’ implied, but _fuck_ did he hope it meant sex, because knowing that Cas wanted him set his heartbeat racing, choked his throat with desire.

And if that didn’t make him fucking disgusting, to be so turned on after the morning he’d had, Dean had no idea what would.

“Thank you, Dean. I want to clarify my intentions,” said Cas, fucking reading Dean’s mind. How the fuck did Cas _do_ that? “Normally, I would not even consider engaging in… _anything_ …with you so soon after beginning. If you were a sub and I was meeting you for the first time, we’d interview each other, discuss our interests and limits, what we find a turn on, what does not interest us, and if we were compatible we’d meet again, plan a scene, and then execute the scene after perhaps three or four opportunities to get to know each other. But we’re in a unique, unorthodox situation – we’ve been friends for a long time, and the person who should have cared for you has failed you badly. As far as I’m concerned, this is an emergency – my closest friend is in crisis – and after speaking with you we’ve alit on a way that I am able to help you through that crisis. I know we haven’t had a chance to build up a rapport in our new roles, but we have years of trust as friends that I hope carries over for you as it does for me. When we know each other better, I will be less cautious, but you have been hurt in the past, and hurt today, and I am going to be careful because my priority is making sure that you are alright. May I know your opinion on these matters?”

“Uh, yeah, sounds good, Cas,” muttered Dean.

“That’s all?”

Dean took a deep breath, started to lift his arms to heft himself up so that he wasn’t trying to talk with his mouth half-full of comforter, and thought better of it as his muscles screamed protest and the cuts on his back strained painfully. Dean settled back with a groan, and Cas’ frowned gently, subtle shift communicating that he was extremely troubled.

“Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Honest,” interrupted Dean, struggling to put into words the things that needed to be said. “You asked me to never lie to you. I won’t, I’ll do my damnedest not to. Okay. Cas, yeah, I’ve had a shit day. Flat out. Alastair has never given a fuck what I wanted and today he beat the shit out of me and ignored me when I wanted out and I dumped his ass for it. I didn’t call you, because I didn’t know you were into this shit, and all I could think was how fucking hard you’d try to be _understanding_ and how incredibly fucking awful that would feel. Then you showed up and honestly right now I haven’t got any clue _what_ to think. On the one hand, I’m dead serious when I say that anything you want I will do, _anything_ , Cas, and that scares the shit out of me because I don’t _want_ you to flog me, but if you wanted to do so, even right now, I would, seriously, because all I know is that _I want you_ so fucking much I can hardly stand it.

“If this is unorthodox, than fine, it’s fucking unorthodox, but who gives a shit what’s normal? None of this shit is ‘normal.’ You said you’d be my dom, you agreed, and all I know is that I _need_ that, I need you to use me, need you to do whatever the fuck you want to do, because I…” He took a deep breath and blinked back more damn tears. “Because I…” Frustrated, Dean buried his face against the blankets.

 _Because I need someone – no, I need_ you ­– _to_ _help me, to take care of me, and I can’t fucking_ say that _because real fucking men don’t ask for help no matter what. But I guess I’m no kind of man, because I fucking hurt_ so much _and because I cried and because I couldn’t prove myself this morning and because I’m such a damn useless bastard. Fuck, what would Cas even fucking_ say _if he knew that was what I was thinking right now? I can’t, I just can’t, he can never know. This is a terrible fucking idea. Mixing my friendship with my kinky-ass sex life can only end in disaster. Why did I agree to this?_

Cas’ expression was ingenuous and open, like he actually cared. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, leaning in for an awkward kiss, their noses knocking together as they negotiated positioning their heads in respect to the bed. “That means a lot to me, both what you said and that you said it, and it puts a lot of my concerns to rest. Soon, we’ll have a more detailed discussion of what is and is not on the table for scenes, though based on what you’ve said so far, I don’t think we’ll have trouble negotiating scenarios that are mutually satisfying. For today, I’ll do my best to assess what you need, and give you that. Alright?” Dean nodded. “Please say the word, Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas,” breathed Dean. At least now he had some idea of what Cas expected of him. Be obedient, indicate what he needed as asked, and tell the truth. He could do that. Cas already knew he needed care, had already offered it, and Dean had already said yes. He didn’t have to find it in himself to say the actual words, to somehow just flat out open his damn mouth and go _Please help me Cas_. Cas _knew_ he needed help.

“What’s your safe word?” asked Cas flatly.

“Funky town,” Dean replied by rote. A smile quirked Cas’ lips, breaking through the mask of seriousness he had assumed for asking the question.

“I’m going to see to your injuries,” Cas explained, rising and walking out of Dean’s field of vision towards the back of the bed. “Is there any where you would prefer I not touch you?”

“Anywhere’s fine,” said Dean indifferently.

“What about in terms of pressure?” asked Cas.

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged against the mattress and winced.

“Really?” Cas said dryly. “So if I wanted to rub all over your back, that’d be totally fine?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Dean said, confused.

“No, I wouldn’t,” agreed Cas. “But I’d like you to be explicit with me when stating your limits, Dean.”

“Look, that’s great, I’ll work on it, but can we _not_ teach ‘Submissive 101’ right now?” grumbled Dean.

Cas sighed, and the mattress shifted as Cas settled near the foot of the bed, came to kneel beside Dean’s legs. “ _We’ll_ work on it,” Cas vowed. There was a squirting sound, and hands came to rest gently around Dean’s ankle, avoiding his injury carefully, massaging in chill cream. A shiver ran through Dean’s entire body, his eyes closed happily and he lost himself in the hands on his body, applying pressure in all the right places, touch serving no purpose but to feel nice.

“Is this alright?” asked Cas softly, rubbing Dean’s foot, working lotion between his toes. There was no chill that spoke of Icy Hot, Cas had somehow found some regular cream – maybe it had been in the first aid kit? – and it felt soothing and smooth as Cas rubbed and kneaded.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed.

Cas’ fingers were strong and confident as he massaged Dean’s foot, eased his ankle, skirting the flesh burned by the rope. Squeezing more cream into his hands, Cas turned his attention to Dean’s calf, long, powerful strokes along the muscle, fingers reaching around to rub more gently over the bone, again, again, and maybe it was fucking Icy Hot, cause every touch sparked fire, arousal and relaxation combining to suffuse Dean with glorious, luminous heat. The glow pulsated throughout his body. Another pause, another squirt, and Cas’ hands were wrapped around the thickest part of Dean’s thigh, temptingly close to his crotch, his ass, his cock. The thought of those skilled hands on his dick was cripplingly good, and a low moan accompanied Dean’s next exhale, irrepressible. His cock thickened, uncomfortably caught between his body and the bed, and Dean prayed with every fiber of his being that Cas would realize and move him, that Cas would fucking _touch_ him. The anticipation added to the heat, quivered in his stomach, hardened him more, as Cas instead palmed down to Dean’s knee, working around the joint.

“Cas...” Dean breathed the name, the closest he could come to vocalizing his fervent thoughts.

 _Shit, I spoke, I suck. Why can’t I do_ anything _right?_

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’ response was instant, and yeah, now that Dean knew what he was listening to, that guttural, blissed-out tone was definitely Cas’ sex voice, and it was fucking _glorious_.

 _This is turning him on, too. He might get hard again. He might...he might want to...not if I can’t be obedient. I have to do better. If I want him to fuck me, I have to be good._ If _I want?_

A phantom sensation of being thrust into and filled erupted in Dean’s thoughts, ghostly and shockingly good. A groan burst from Dean and he buried his face in the mattress, dissolving into whimpers as his rapid movements triggered pain throughout his body. Cas’ hands slowed, stopped.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Dean awkwardly shook his head against the bed.

“Is there something I can do ease you?” Cas’ genuine concern brought color to his cheeks.

“Would you touch me?” Dean implored. It felt weird to ask, but Cas’ orders had been clear, and Dean _could_ obey, even if it wasn’t what he was used to.

Tauntingly, Cas began massaging him again, less firm, suggestive, tracing light lines at Dean’s hip joint, inside and out, so close and yet so far from what Dean meant. “I am touching you,” murmured Cas. “I’ll take care of all of you, in time. You must be patient, Dean. Can you do that for me?” Squirming, Dean nodded and shifted his hips to move his cock to a more comfortable position, achingly hard in response to the possessive note in Cas’ voice.

“No more of that,” Cas reprimanded, and Dean stilled instantly. “And I’d like vocal responses every time, please.”

“I’ll be patient,” promised Dean. “I won’t move.”

“Good,” Cas said. Hands settled on Dean’s neglected leg, massaged his other foot, his calf, his thigh. “You’re being very good, Dean.” A low moan brushed against the bedding, Dean’s hands tensed and relaxed against the blanket.

 _I haven’t done anything to earn those words, I’m just lying here, you’re doing all the work, I don’t deserve_ …but he couldn’t protest, because Cas hadn’t asked him a question, and he wasn’t allowed to talk unless Cas said he could. The thought caused a blissful sigh. That was _exactly_ what he needed, the only way to shut away, to shut up, all the fucking frustrating thoughts of how unworthy he was. Cas’ hands trailed up his thighs, around his quads, long, hard strokes along taut muscles, and Dean surrendered completely, wonderfully, delightedly.

When Cas finally drew away, Dean’s entire lower body felt at ease, a delicious contrast to the tension in his shoulder and the ache in his back. Rustling told Dean nothing, and then Cas was delicately rubbing gel into the burns around each of Dean’s ankles. Another unidentifiable noise, some kind of cloth, Dean thought, a squirt, and Cas wrapped hands around one of his knees and cold jolted through Dean’s system, so shocking he gasped. There was the damn Icy Hot, and fuck did it feel _good_ , instantly chilling through his strained joint, contrasting shockingly with the heat Cas’ hands spread everywhere they touched. Rubbing the medicine in firmly, Cas kneaded every knob and plane and dip of his knee until the chill gave way to blazing heat. Cas switched to the other leg, treating it just the same.

Having Cas’ hands on him felt like heaven, like safety and trust and care; every time they left he felt abandoned, and it was all Dean could do not to whimper and reveal how alone he felt each time Cas refreshed the medicine coating his hands. Abruptly, Cas drew away completely, and if not for the stillness on the bed telling Dean that Cas hadn’t left, the flicker of panic in Dean’s minds would have burst into desperate breathing and reeling thoughts. A small, terrified voice in his head protested that Dean’s reaction was _not okay_. Dean shouldn’t need Cas this much this quickly. Dean shouldn’t need _anyone_ this much. It wasn’t necessary, he could manage on his fucking own, and it wasn’t fair. Cas wouldn’t be able to stay with him, had surely never intended to stay. Distressed thoughts combed through everything Cas had said and tried to figure out if there were any hints as to Cas’ intentions beyond today. Dean had thought there was some hints that Cas might intend his attentions to last beyond the day, but combing through his memories now, Dean could think of nothing concrete, nothing that he couldn’t explain away. Nothing Cas said suggested anything other than a temporary arrangement, just long enough for Cas to take care of Dean’s injuries.

The bed rocked and Cas’ weight settled over Dean’s knees, hovering, putting no pressure on the joint, straddling him, rough denim brushing against Dean’s skin.

“Easy,” Cas’ breath ghosted over Dean’s skin, his face close over Dean’s ass. “I’ve got you, Dean. I’m going to take care of you. You don’t have to worry.”

_He doesn’t know what he’s actually offering. He just means these wounds. He doesn’t intend to stay. I can’t let myself think that he does. I can’t let myself expect more._

Cas’ hands returned to his skin, wrapped around his hip and rubbed Icy Hot in with tender confidence. Dean pushed away the darker thoughts and focused on feeling. There was nothing about what Cas did that didn’t feel amazing, even the spasms of pain that Cas’ touch occasionally triggered twisted with the pleasure and the heat, and Dean knew he’d be on fricken cloud nine if he’d just let himself be.

_Turn everything over to Cas. Even if he only means today, he’s promised to tell me the truth, and he’s promised to take care of everything. If this is all I get to have, I’m going to enjoy it. If this is all I get to have, it’s enough. I need it to be enough for a lifetime._

The brush of fingers near his sensitive skin, near his cock, just shy of his perineum, his hole, provided the spur Dean needed to clear his thoughts, pushed Dean to the limits of his self-restraint. Every brush of Cas’ hands was temptation, was anticipation denied outlet. Every breath was tinged with a moan, desire spurred on by the press of Cas’ fingers, by the cold and the heat exploding through his body, by how much he wanted Cas’ hands to stray, by how easy it’d be to rut against the bedding and chase the friction he craved. His cock twitched and brushed the rough comforter and Dean groaned, and Cas echoed him, switching to Dean’s other hip. Sweaty flesh came to rest on Dean’s ass, hair ticking at Dean’s aching, seared skin.

“ _God_ , you’re responsive,” Cas panted, every breath puffing hot and humid over Dean’s skin. “It’s like I can see every thought that passes through your head, on your body...amazing, Dean...I was going to…I wasn’t…I…” Cas groaned again, the sound tinged with pain, and Dean wondered what his best friend – what his dom! – was thinking, all the things he was holding himself back from saying. Why wasn’t he speaking freely? It made Dean wonder, flared his worry once more. “It’s alright, Dean, it’s not you. Look, I…I need you to tell me what you want from me today. I’m trying to assess, based on your behavior, but I…I can’t trust myself right now…I can’t trust my judgment…there are things…” Another pained whine interrupted Cas’ words.

_This isn’t working for him. This is making him uncomfortable. He’s realized what he’s offered, and he wants to take it back, now that he’s actually touched my body more, now that he’s had more opportunity to look at my shit-show of a back…now that he can see my red, stretched ass, knows another man fucked me today, knows I let someone else touch me, not just beat me..._

Nausea twisted Dean’s stomach, fear and embarrassment and shame roiled together. “Cas?” It wasn’t Dean’s place to ask if his dom was alright, to ask if Cas wanted out of this scene, but Cas was his friend, and the tightness in Cas’ voice worried him, frightened him, made him feel dirty.

_…I can’t answer that question. I can’t tell him I want him to fuck my brains out. I can’t tell him I need that. It’s too much. There’s no way that’s something he wants from me, not now, not ever._

“I’m good, Dean,” Cas said, clearly striving to calm himself. “I’m very good.” What the fuck did _that_ mean? _Whatever it means, it’s the truth._ “I need you to answer me.”

“Whatever you want to give me,” Dean said automatically.

“No,” snapped Cas, and Dean flinched.

_Nothing, he doesn’t want to give me anything, nothing but care._

“No,” Cas repeated more gently, his hands moving to Dean’s sides, bare of lotion, stroking long and graceful along Dean’s waist. “Please, Dean. I don’t want to misread you. I don’t want to hurt you. I _need_ you…” Cas broke off, panting again, pressing his forehead hard against the top of Dean’s ass. “I need you to tell me…if you want more than care…if you want more than…than for me to… _shit_.” Wetness fell on Dean’s skin, one drop, two.

“Are you _crying_?” Dean was too shocked to hold the exclamation back, too confused to remain distressed. None of what Cas said added up to what Dean was thinking, and in the absence of that explanatory framework he had no idea what was going on.

“Anything you want,” Cas pressed on, sounding lost. “Dean: today, I’m your dom, and these are your orders – _tell me what you want_.”

Dean shuddered and pressed his face against the bed. The impossible answer came to him instantly.

 _You. You, you, you, always you, nobody but you, nobody but Cas, the one person I’ve wanted all along, the gorgeous man I’ll never be good enough for, the saint who has stood at my side through everything, the angel who knows I’m garbage and yet has never left me alone as I deserve. I want_ everything _you are willing to give me, today, tomorrow, forever._

_No!_

“Don’t ask me that, Cas,” Dean whispered. “I can’t—!”

“You agreed to obey me,” said Cas, mustering his self-command. His hands froze in place, wrapped unsatisfyingly around Dean’s hips, an unspoken threat in Cas’ stillness. “As long as you are my sub, you _will_ follow my orders. Tell me!”

“Cas…”

“ _Now_ , Dean!”

“I want you to…Cas...don’t…no, no...can’t... _please_ , Cas...” Dean clamped down against a string of things he _couldn’t_ let himself say aloud. Not obeying was a disaster, but answering was impossible. Pain pushed pleasure aside, tempered Dean’s arousal, as he tensed and every ache protested.

 _Don’t look at me, don’t touch me, don’t waste yourself on me, not even once, not ever_ … _you’re an angel, you’re the best man I’ve ever met, you deserve someone special, you deserve someone as perfect as you are, someone like Jimmy, you shouldn’t be with me, I’m a waste of your time, you should leave, Cas, you should leave before I drag you down. I can’t be what you need._

“I’ve got you, Dean,” Cas’ hands trailed up his sides comfortingly, caging Dean between his arms, gripping his shoulders comfortingly. “I’ll take care of you. Are you able to tell me why this is so hard for you to say?”

_Why am I letting him do this?_

“Don’t...” Dean took a deep, quavering breath and tried again. “Don’t deserve you, Cas. Shouldn’t be letting you take care of me. Shouldn’t be...we shouldn’t be doing this.”

_I’m letting him make this about me. It should be about him._

Cas froze. “Do you need me to stop?” Slowly, carefully, Cas began to draw away, and Dean whimpered at the loss of contact.

_He needs to stop him. But I don’t want him to. It feels so good when he touches me. God, I’m selfish._

“I don’t know.” _He said I deserve this. He said he decides what I deserve._ “Tell me what to do, Cas.”

 _He’s my dom._ Cas _is my dom. What he says is what he wants of me. He wants to know what I want. He_ requires _to know what I want._

“I will do nothing without your consent, Dean,” said Cas sadly. “This will only work if you can be explicit with me. I know I’m asking a lot when we’re so new to doing this together. You’ve permitted me to care for your injuries, and I will do so to the best of my ability, but if you want more than that from me, you _must_ tell me. Do you need to stop?”

 _He really wants to know. He’s not just teasing me, he’s not just stringing me on. This is_ Cas _, he’d never do that to me. Cas_ isn’t _Alastair, he isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever been with. He’s my best friend. That doesn’t go away because we’re in a scene._

“No,” said Dean quietly.

_He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want an honest answer. I can do this for him._

Cas’ weight settled back on him just as slowly and deliberately as he’d moved away, carefully not startling Dean or hurting him, and Dean sighed, the tension started to drain from his back. Hot breath returned to the base of Dean’s spine. “Are you able to tell me why this is hard for you?”

“I failed today,” muttered Dean. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“ _I decide what you deserve_ ,” Cas’ voice, harsh, cut through Dean’s thoughts like a knife. “You tell me what you want, but _I_ decide what to do with that information. Do you understand?” Dean squeezed his eyes closed, tears struggling to win free, and tried not to shake. “Dean, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Dean couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of his voice. When they’d started, Dean had made the mistake of thinking things could be that easy, but then Cas had asked him what he wanted and everything in his head had fallen apart. Letting go was never that easy. Dean was too fucked up for that, and Cas was such a saint he couldn’t even see that. Cas looked right through what a disaster Dean was and somehow only saw someone strong, someone attractive, someone worthy.

“I need you to say this with me, need you to believe it with all your heart,” Cas said earnestly. “I decide what you deserve. Say that to me, Dean.” His arms were back on Dean’s sides, clasping him, protecting him, and Dean sighed and eased into the contact, eased into the bed, eased into his answer.

“You decide what I deserve,” Dean murmured. A warm glow suffused his thoughts. This was what Cas wanted. This was what Cas demanded of him. He’d been with doms that had asked far more, and he’d given it to them with far less protest. He could do this.

“Make me believe it, Dean.”

“Cas, you decide…” A voice in Dean’s head raised a pathetic protest, and Dean quashed it. “You decide what I deserve,” he finished fervently.

_I can behave as Cas asks me to._

“Do you understand, Dean? Do you believe me?”

“I do,” Dean whispered, and with the admission came a burst of relief. He’d agreed to this. He’d agreed to turn control over to Cas. It was well within what they’d agreed that Cas ask Dean what he wanted and require Dean’s to reply. Now that he’d spoken the words, it felt fucking _stupid_ that he’d resisted so hard. This was probably a one-off, but if Cas didn’t think Dean was an obedient submissive, it’d _definitely_ be a once in a lifetime event.

 _I’ll do better, Cas. I’ll be what you want me to be. I will_.

“Now tell me what you want today, Dean.”

_I’m not asking for him to do anything. He’s ordered me to answer. I’m following my orders by telling him. He’ll decide if I can have it. It’s not wrong to say it. It’s not wrong to want it. Yes, yes it is, I’m not supposed to want things, I’m not supposed to have the things I want._

_Leave it in Cas’ hands._

“Want you to fuck me, Cas,” Dean said in a rush, coloring bright red. His breath picked up in an instant, his heart raced, and some part of him waited with knotted unease for the dire consequences of his confession.

Cas heaved a sigh as if he’d been holding his breath, and pressed his lips against one of Dean’s ass cheeks, placed a gentle kiss to his flesh, and Dean could feel Cas smiling against his skin. “Thank you, Dean.” Dean’s tension eased, and Cas huffed a deep, criminally sexy laugh against Dean’s ass. “So good,” Cas murmured, resuming his soothing caresses up and down Dean’s sides. “I’m sorry to push you, Dean, I know today has been very hard for you. In order to take care of you, I need you to be honest with me, and I hate that that means I have to expose you further but it’s only so I can protect you – even from me, if I have to, if I can’t trust my ability to assess your needs. You’re doing so well. You’re trying so hard to do the things I’m asking of you. I know this isn’t easy, and I’m so impressed by how you’re pushing yourself, how you’re rising to every challenge. I’m proud of you, Dean. You’re so amazingly strong, you’re everything I dreamed you could be. Thank you.”

“Cas—”

“Quiet now, beautiful,” Cas rolled his head forward and pressed a kiss to Dean’s pucker, teased tongue over the wrinkled skin, and Dean gasped in shock. “I’m going to take care of you.” No one had ever kissed him there, and he was shocked at how damn _good_ it felt. Laving over the surface, the heat and wet tingled faintly, promised so much more, and in his head Dean begged for Cas to keep going, to work his tongue inside. The moment passed, though, Cas’ head lifted away, and Dean’s body throbbed with want and disappointment.

_It’s okay. He’ll give me what I deserve. He’ll give me what I need. So long as I behave._

_God, Cas, this is good, this is so good, you’re so good for me, so good to me. How do you_ know _?_

Cas shimmied up Dean’s legs until he straddled Dean’s thighs, every brush of firm flesh enclosed by rough fabric rippling shivers through Dean’s sensitized skin. The distinct wet sound of more lotion being squeezed out sounded surreal over Dean’s heavy breathing, and Cas’ hands came to rest with a squelch on Dean’s shoulder. With firm circular motions, Cas worked Icy Hot into Dean’s shoulders, and Dean groaned as all his lingering tension vanished, all his worry. Cas was taking care of him. Cas’ fingers working now rough, now languid, until the heat of the medicine suffused Dean’s chest, streamed through his blood, pooled pleasure in his head, guts, thighs, surged through his flagging erection, hardening him again quickly. Each touch revealed Cas’ consideration, each attention relieved more of Dean’s pain. Determinedly, Cas kneaded at a knot until Dean groaned into the bedding, Cas’ breaths growing labored and vocal as he worked. When it finally released, Dean moaned in satisfaction, and Cas leaned down and sucked a gentle kiss into Dean’s neck, carefully skirting where he’d applied the medication. The movement brought Cas’ jean-clad crotch into contact with Dean’s ass, pressed Cas’ bulge against his crack, and Dean moaned again at the feeling of it, the sound growing lengthier and lower as Cas rutted a promise, pressing Dean’s hips and cock into the bedding with a whine of protesting springs.

Wordlessly, Cas straightened, there was another squirt of Icy Hot, and Cas leaned in to massage Dean’s other shoulder with all the assiduous care that he’d shown the first. His fingers were strong and confident, powerful when that was needed, easing a soothing touch after he kneaded away the aches, dancing fire and ice over Dean’s flesh. As he worked, Cas bent low over Dean once more, placing kiss after kiss along his neck, nuzzling, biting him lightly, whispering praise.

“I’m so honored that you’re letting me do this,” Cas breathed, fingers curling around Dean’s clavicle and teasing gently over the bone, palming at firm muscles. “I’m so glad I have this chance to give this to you, so glad I can take care of you. You’re so beautiful, Dean. So brave. You’ve been denied so much, denied yourself so much. I can’t wait to give you want you. I can’t wait to give you what you deserve.” Cas’ hips rolled into Dean’s ass again and again, emphasizing the words, the mattress rolling and bouncing beneath them, until faint groans in time with the squeal of metal echoed through the room. The pleasure and promise of Cas’ suggestive motions, the heat of relief that dulled his pain to a background whisper, left Dean drunk and dizzy. There was something surreal about the whole situation, disconnected completely from the day he’d had. He was probably passed out asleep at that very moment, and that was fine with him. His dreams of Cas were always the best he ever had. He idly hoped he’d remember every minute when he woke up.

Tender hands left his flesh for a moment, there was a rustle of fabric, a squirt of lotion, and then they were back, one hand on each of his arms, long strokes over his muscles, a quick rub of his elbows, then down his forearms. As Cas worked, he slid his body down as well, until once again Cas was over Dean’s knees, his face inches from Dean’s crack, once again hot breath teased over sensitive skin. Dean’s cock twitched with anticipation, imagining all the things those gorgeous lips might be able to do, his thoughts spinning out unspeakably good blow jobs, taunting kisses, tender nips, sucking caresses. Finishing his massage, Cas’ thumbs circled Dean’s palms soothingly and lips came to Dean’s hole once more, kissing him, licking over the surface, and Dean moaned.

“This okay?” Cas breathed, voice thick with desire that drew another wanton moan from Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great, you’re great,” mumbled Dean, woozy in the wash of feelings. “Don’t stop...”

“I saw the enema kit in the garbage in the bathroom – how recently did you clean up, Dean?” Every one of Cas’ breaths against his entrance was a suggestion driving Dean to distraction. No one had _ever_ given Dean a rim job, he’d wanted to try, but how the fuck could he ask a partner to tongue his ass? But Cas _knew_ , or just wanted to, and God, who knew his best friend was such a kinky bastard? It was unbelievably hot, and it only grew more so as Cas sucked another kiss over his pucker.Dean scrambled desperately for something to hold on to, his thoughts and heart racing in time. “Hey...” Cas trailed off and fingers met Dean’s, took his hand, and Dean grasped and squeezed desperately. “You sure this is alright with you?”

“It is, it is, God, it’s so alright,” moaned Dean. “Like, two hours, maybe two hours, I don’t know – what time is it – does it matter – it was after, after I got home, I couldn’t, he was on me, in me, it was, it was—” Every memory of his day crashed home hard, driving him back to his room, back to reality, back to his pain and his fear and the reminders of everything he was never allowed to want, never allowed to have. His grip on Cas’ hand convulsed, and Cas gasped in pain.

 _Shouldn’t talk about that, shouldn’t talk about another partner, shouldn’t remind Cas I was with someone else_ this fucking morning _, it’ll just remind him of how cheap I am, how dirty, how damaged, how used._

Cas’ weight lifted clear of Dean’s legs and he choked back a sob, now he’d done it, sure enough, but then Cas found his other hand, the bed bounced and Dean felt heat and closeness. Cas hovered so close over Dean’s back that Dean could feel him, warm, reassuring, a shield to protect Dean, armor to guard him. Lips pressed to the back of Dean’s neck.

“I’ve got you, Dean,” Cas murmured. “You’re safe now. He can’t touch you. Never again – he will never hurt you again, I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you again.” Dean squeezed on the fingers intertwined with his. “I’ve got you. Don’t think, just listen to my voice. I will take care of you. I will stop any time you ask, I will do whatever you need, be whoever you need me to be.”

_This is real, and this morning was real. None of it was a dream. If that happened, at least this happened too. This is real. Thank God._

It was minutes before Dean’s muscles unwound again, minutes before Cas moved, minutes of fingers rubbing the backs of Dean’s hands, of kisses mouthed against his neck, of whispers. “So strong, Dean, so strong, always so strong. It’s beautiful, you’re so beautiful I can’t believe you’re real sometimes, I never could believe it, but we’re here, we’re really here. I’m really touching you, I’m really kissing you, I can help you, for once I can truly help you, and that’s so special, you’re so special, it means so much to me that you would share this with me, that you would let me do this for you.” There was no break in the words, a calming, supportive web that Cas built all around him, wove through him, until there was nothing but Cas’ voice, Cas’ warmth, Cas’ touch against his skin. Long, slow breaths matched Cas’, Dean’s mind emptied save for a reverberating echo of Cas’ words.

_So beautiful, Cas, can’t believe how gorgeous you are, always wanted you to touch me, always wanted to kiss you, never could ask, never thought this would happen, never even dreamed you wanted me too. You know just what to say to calm me down, to open me up. You’re perfect._

“If you’re up for more, I mean, if you still want…with me…I’ll continue,” Cas breathed in his ear. “If not, it’s okay. I’ll clean the injuries on your back again, bandage you, and you can get some rest. Um…this doesn’t have to be…I mean…if you wanted to do something like this again…it’s up to you.”

“Still want you,” Dean whispered. “Wasn’t lying earlier – want you, always wanted you, always want you.”

Cas kissed gently behind his ear, caught his lobe and sucked lightly, and then drifted back, pulling away, and Dean imagined him to say, “then you’ll always have me.”

Metal groaned under Cas’ shifting weight, and a knee came to rest between Dean’s, suggesting Dean spread his legs, urging him to expose himself. Tiny spikes of pain accompanied the movement, but the ache didn’t linger, and the promise of pleasure absorbed each twinge. Cas came to crouch between his legs, holding Dean’s hands all the while, and lay a gentle kiss over Dean’s hole, licking, teasing.

_He shouldn’t have to…_

“Don’t think, Dean,” Cas said commandingly. Another kiss followed the words immediately, and Dean’s mind shut off completely, under the force of the order, under the tenderness of Cas’ lips. “On your knees.” Dean obeyed instantly, desperate for whatever was to come. Finally freed from being pressed against the mattress, his cock hung heavy, wet, neglected, between his legs. Over and over again, Cas laved the tight pucker, until sparks swirled around Dean’s head so incessantly he felt vertigo, until his insides ached for the slightest touch. When Dean thought he could bear it no longer, when his heavy breathing gave way to moans tinged with a pleading note, Cas let go of Dean’s hands, used them to spread Dean’s cheeks apart. Cas pressed a sucking kiss to the sensitive flesh, Cas’ tongue pressed against the muscles, and after so many kisses, so much gentle attention, Dean’s body was already relaxed enough that he spread easily, and hot, wet, powerful muscle rubbed all along the inner rim of Dean’s ass.

It was impossible not to groan at the intense pleasure, the wonderful feeling of being even slightly filled after being teased so long. Dean thought it must have been a decade since he’d taken the time to savor how nice slight penetration could feel. Knowing the greater bliss that awaited within, he so often pushed for more, for faster, for deeper, desperate to feel pressure on his prostate and friction along his aching walls. Surrendering completely to Cas’ pace, to Cas’ attentions, Dean allowed himself to enjoy what was being done to him, the feeling of being just slightly spread, the unbelievable heat that grew from being stimulated only around the rim of his ass, an echo of early, timid explorations, when putting in a single finger to the first joint had felt naughty and forbidden and fucking _awesome_. This also felt naughty, and a little dirty, Cas’ mouth on his ass, Cas’ tongue _inside_ him, but he was clean, and it felt even better than those early, timid explorations. Cas tongue was hot and strong, his saliva slicked Dean open easily, as he eased in and out, sparked pleasure that left Dean panting, sweat beading on his forehead, trailing down his spine and arched back.

Two thumbs teased at Dean’s tight muscles, opened him gently, and Cas delved further inside, adroit tongue exploring, drawing moan after moan from Dean. Despite his best intentions of keeping still, Dean couldn’t prevent himself from rocking backwards slightly each time Cas pressed furthest in. A discouraging growl in the back of Cas’ throat shivered through Dean’s sensitive hole, through the exposed flesh, through his whole body, and with a groan Dean tensed himself to stillness, earning stroking touches to his ass as Cas silently praised him. The effort left him trembling, even more aroused than he had been, for the clear implication that if Dean couldn’t be good, the pleasure would stop, for the certainty that if Dean behaved, Cas would continue.

In the midst of sheer delight, need grew stronger and stronger, burning in his gut, throbbing through his neglected cock, whispering through his channel. Every touch of Cas’ tongue on him was fantastic, yet there was so much more of him untouched, unstretched, and desperation began to tinge Dean’s moans, whimpers breaking through. Cas’ thumbs slipped further into him, pulled him wider, allowed Cas’ deeper, yet it was still barely enough to pass the initial tight ring, just enough to tease him with possibilities. The quiver in his legs increased, adding jolts of pain from his back and joints to the growing pleasure, until it was all Dean could do not to beg. He mouthed urgent words against the bedding, uncaring of the polyester fibers that caught on his lips and dried them, silent pleading interrupted by desperate moans.

Cas’ hands left Dean’s ass, Cas’ tongue withdrew until once again he teased only at the surface, and Dean’s insides tingled in the absence of stimulation, the loss of feeling so intense he was on the verge of tears. His heart pounded so loudly he couldn’t hear over the sound, he thought he was making noises but he wasn’t sure, his cock bobbed in time to the pulse of blood rushing through him, and then two long fingers breached him easily, filled him, and as profoundly satisfied a groan as he’d ever made exploded from his entire body. Fuck knew where Cas had gotten lube – Dean couldn’t summon the mental wherewithal to remember if he had a bottle in the bathroom – but the fingers thrust in smoothly, separated within him to stretch him open, pulled out, pushed in again hard. Self-control was all that kept Dean from fucking himself crazy on them, all that kept him from sobbing his grateful thanks into the bedding. Cas’ hot cheeks yet spread Dean’s crack wide, mouthed kisses to Dean’s coccyx were interrupted by fervent praise.

“God, so hot, Dean, so tight around my tongue, around my hand…can’t wait to be inside you…love the sounds you’re making, don’t stop, you’re so good, so obedient, so beautiful.” The words, breathed wet against Dean’s skin, showed every crack in Cas’ self-control, every quaver and pause showed his desire, and a feeling of power burgeoned in Dean’s chest, compounded his arousal. Cas, his staid best friend, his new-found dom, so intent on caring for him, was on the edge from giving Dean pleasure, from watching Dean, from Dean’s obedience to the commands to not move, to not speak. Urgent thrusts in and out smeared Dean’s channel with lubricant and saliva; the smoother the way became, the faster Cas worked, tugging at Dean’s rim, squeezing out more lube and working it deeper into him. On the verge of floating away, overwhelmed by the tingling pain, the bliss of just two fingers, Dean twisted his fingers in the bedding, and moaned, because he felt amazing, because Cas liked the sounds he made.

“Do you still want me inside of you?” Cas asked.

“Yeah…please, Cas…” Dean’s voice was ragged, dry, cracked. He licked his lips to get moisture back onto them, but it was barely effective, his urgent breathing had left him parched.

Cas shuddered and bit off a low groan. “God, I’ve dreamed of hearing you say my name like that.”

Frantic thoughts echoed Cas’ words, but he kept silent save for irrepressible whimpers. Dean was good, he was obedient, he’d not speak unless Cas asked him a question, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t beg, it was shameful, men don’t beg, men don’t need, but _fuck_ did Dean need Cas.

The fingers left him smoothly, and Dean choked a sob, bit back urgent pleas. To the sound of his mattress showing how embarrassingly cheap it was, Cas shifted, moved, left the bed, ceased touching him, and Dean twisted the blanket around his fingers to hold back his words. A wrapper opened, a sound Dean knew only too well, and feverish thoughts screamed that Cas was putting on a condom, would be inside him soon, oh _God_ , it was going to be amazing, any minute now, any minute, he couldn’t wait, he needed...Cas was back in moments, the bed settling as Cas’ heat rested between Dean’s legs, his fingers combed along Dean’s sides, traced down the arch of Dean’s body to where Dean’s shoulders and face were pressed against the bed, threaded through Dean’s hair.

“So good for me,” murmured Cas, rubbing Dean’s shoulders, down his arms, until one of his hands left, and the other clasped Dean’s, laced their fingers together, lifted their shared grip to rest on Dean’s stomach. The touch was so calming, so centering that Dean sighed happily and slumped against the bed, utterly at ease. “So good,” Cas whispered. Wide, hot bluntness brushed against Dean’s opening, and even that couldn’t crack the serenity that Cas’ simple gesture had brought Dean. He was wet and open and ready, body and mind. Cas’ palm rubbed the back of Dean’s hand, silent echo of the praise, and Dean glowed with pride and happiness and anticipation of his hard-earned reward. “Dean, what do you deserve?”

“Whatever you give me, Cas,” Dean murmured contentedly. “Whatever you choose to give me.”

Cas pressed against him and grunted at the initial resistance, and Dean clung to his relaxation and peace. The head began to penetrate him, and Dean groaned. Cas hadn’t felt enormous in his mouth, but as cock pushed through Dean’s tight muscles, breached his ass, spread and stretched him, filled him by fricken millimeters, Cas felt fucking _huge_ and absolutely fucking _perfect_.

“Remember, Dean,” Cas panted. Thickly applied lube made every movement smooth, and Dean’s calm began to give way under the certainty that if Cas wanted to, he could fill Dean in one easy stroke, could spread him completely any time he wanted to. “I’m giving you this because you are wonderful, and you deserve it.”

As if reading Dean’s mind, Cas pivoted his hips forward with a jerk, skin slapped against skin, and glorious cock filled him to the brim, Dean’s fingers clawed convulsively at Cas’, and a groan rolled Dean’s entire body, rutting him into Cas’ cock involuntarily, lifting him momentarily from the bed with the force of it. With his free hand, he scrambled desperately for something to hold on to, unable to focus even on the injunction to keep still under how fucking _good_ it felt to have Cas inside him. Cas’ remaining hand found Dean’s, wrapped trembling fingers around trembling fingers, and held pressed Dean’s palm against the rough bedding.

“I’ve got you,” whispered Cas. Drawing back slowly, Cas thrust in again, and so easily, so smoothly, and fantastic friction surged along Dean’s channel, through his head, hot cock perfect against Dean’s insides. A glancing brush over Dean’s prostate exploded through him like a punch to the gut. “Dean…geeze, Dean…amazing…this is amazing…God, you look beautiful spread around me…I’ve dreamed...it’s better, you’re better, so hot, so good around me, so eager, you want me, that’s...that’s amazing...going to make you feel so good...” Slowly out, and then hard back in, and Cas groaned as he bottomed out again, balls smacking Dean’s ass, force pressing Dean’s shoulders into the bed.

“Don’t…don’t…” _Don’t keep praising me, I can’t, it pulls me back, I don’t want to be pulled back to sense, to reason, I just want to feel, I just want to feel how fucking_ perfect _this is. I don’t want to second guess it, I don’t want to wonder and worry, I just want you to fuck me, need you to fuck me, need you to_ …Cas hit full on his prostate, and the thoughts disappeared in fucking bliss, Dean’s cock spitting pre-come so strongly it dripped to the bed. They’d just started and already he was so close, swamped by feeling, if Cas would pick up a rhythm and pound into him Dean would be gone in moments. Cas eased their hands flat against Dean’s belly, pushed into Dean so hard that Dean’s body swayed forward, the mattress squealed, his cock swayed and slapped against their hands, smearing them with thick liquid.

“You _are_ , you are so strong, God, you’re spectacular,” moaned Cas. His pace picked up, quicker strokes, pulling out less, pushing in more gently, no less pleasurable for being easier on Dean’s aching body. “I’ll never hurt you.” Another stroke applied perfect pressure to Dean’s prostate and he moaned and strained to hold himself still. “I’ll always take care of you.” Cas’ heavy breathing fractured his words, his voice was low, he sounded like he was hanging on by a thread. “I’ll always give you exactly what you need.” Cas’ grip on Dean’s hands tightened, held Dean still as Cas thrust into him harder, raking Dean’s insides with pressure. “I’ll always give you exactly what you deserve.” Panting with effort, Cas stilled. “Do you believe me, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean moaned, the stillness unbearable. Another couple shots of rapture and Dean was _done_ , he’d not just come, he’d fucking _dissolve_ into a puddle on his bed, the cheap bedding would fucking absorb what was left of him.

“So if I’m giving myself to you?” Only the restraining hands on Dean’s belly kept him from violating his orders and taking what he craved. Only the feel of Cas’ body trembling behind him, hands shaking around his, kept Dean sensible to the fact that Cas was as close as Dean was, that Cas was holding himself back for Dean’s sake.

_He’s so amazing, he feels so good, he’s taking such good care of me. I can be good for him. I have to be good for him. I can wait, I can wait, I can wait…_

“Asked you a question, Dean!” scolded Cas, huffing out a pained breath.

“Feels so good, Cas,” Dean moaned.

“If I’m giving myself to you, what does it mean?” Cas demanded.

“Means…I deserve…” It was an effort to force each word out. “I deserve this…I deserve _you_ …”

“Yes, you do,” Cas pulled out nearly all the way and pushed back in with a smooth, hard thrust. Dean’s back arched, pain erupting from his injuries, combining with euphoric bliss, and Dean couldn’t help but scream. Cas’ left Dean’s hand pressed to the mattress, still holding Dean’s other to his stomach, and Dean’s cry dissolved into a sob at the loss of that stabilizing touch, broke into a second sob of pure joy as Cas’ hand instead wrapped around Dean’s cock. With a single stroke of his hand, Cas brought Dean to the edge. A second stroke, accompanied by a firm thrust, left Dean quivering helplessly. Cas’ firmed his grip, ran every finger over Dean’s aching head, thrust and stuffed him and pleasured him until Dean was no longer sure what the fuck came out of his mouth, didn’t care, and then Cas’ voice cut through the blood rushing through Dean’s ears. “Come for me, Dean.”

 _Perfect_ cock hit Dean’s prostate, a nail flicked at his leaking slit.

“Cas!” Dean gasped, world going white.

“Come for me!” Cas repeated.

The friction of Cas pulling out was all it took, Dean shook apart with a sob, cock bucking and pulsing in Cas’ grip, release splattering to the bedspread. “Castiel!”

“Dean!” cried Cas, letting go his self-restraint, thrusting urgently, slamming his prostate, and a second burst of sublime bliss burst through Dean, a second spurt of come streaked from his stroked cock. Cas hardly pulling out at all before thrusting back in. “Oh _God_ , Dean!” Each brush hit Dean like a fucking drug, shaking through his body, teasing his orgasm out further, more come dribbling from him as he felt Cas surge and climax inside him, his best friend’s voice shattered, guttural, ecstatic as he cried out raggedly.

The next moments were strangely anticlimactic, both breathing frantically, both immobilized by pleasure and the sudden realization that they had no idea what to do next. Slow, uncertain movements marked Cas drawing away from Dean, cock freeing from Dean’s ass with a comical wet slap, and Dean would have laughed if he didn’t feel so completely drained. Instead, as Cas’ body weight moved from behind him, as the bed teetered, as Cas released his hand, Dean collapsed limply to the bed, letting wave after wave of pleasure keep him afloat. All the pain was gone, all the ache, all the dark thoughts, there was only quiet and heat and the wonderfully comforting thought that some of Cas was inside him, would always be inside him.

A shrill whine of springs marked Cas getting off the bed, and Dean whimpered. Instantly, there was a hand on the back of his neck, and Dean forced his eyes open to see liquid blue looking at him with unmistakable, profound affection. Punch drunk, all Dean could do was smile dopily at Cas, and Cas’ smile widened as their eyes met. “I’m going to gather a few things, I’ll be right back, okay?”

“ ‘Kay, Cas,” mumbled Dean. “Come back soon.”

“I will,” Cas promised, leaning down to brush his lips over Dean’s forehead. “You’re amazing.” A flush pinked Dean’s cheeks, but he couldn’t make himself mind much. If Cas said it, it must be true.

Dean’s eyes slipped shut and he drifted, feeling like he was asea in truth, body trembling with the occasional after shock, mind blank save for occasional content thoughts.

 _That was awesome_. _I had sex with Cas. Fucking_ wow _._

Before he knew it, Cas was back. A wet, hot towel wrapped around Dean’s foot and Cas wiped away the sweat and lingering lotion, giving each leg and each arm a scrub and then drying them off. Very carefully, Cas dabbed at Dean’s back, and pinpricks of pain finally won through Dean’s pleasure, but though he came back down to earth, back to his body, he still felt too fucking fantastic for the moment to be anything other than perfect. When Dean’s back was clean, Cas took his time deliberately reapplying antibiotic cream, placing some kind of bandage over the injuries – Dean thought he only had bandaids, but whatever Cas had found didn’t feel like bandaids – Dean had no idea, only that he felt eased, and cared for, pain fading, his appreciation of Cas’ care keeping him warm, sated, _happy_.

Cas rose again and Dean shivered, chilled and lonely. This time it felt like he was gone for ages, but upon his returned Cas instantly soothed all that away, wrapped a warm blanket around Dean’s body, settled at the head of the bed, and, with an arm around Dean’s shoulders and another under his butt, gently drew Dean into an embrace. Nestled between Cas’ legs, held close to Cas’ chest, Dean nuzzled against Cas’ shoulder and got a choked, tearful noise in reply, Cas’ arms tightening around him.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” murmured Dean, freeing an arm from the blanket and wrapping it around Cas’ waist, finding Cas’ muscles firm, his skin soft.

_I get to touch Cas’ body. I get to have Cas’ arms around me._

“Me too,” Cas spoke softly into Dean’s hair, rippling it with his breath, clasping his hand at the back of Dean’s neck and massaging him gently. “You’re perfect, Dean. You were so good for me.” The words settled kindly over Dean’s thoughts, and he sighed contentedly, eased against Cas’ body.

_That was perfect._

Sunset was late in July, and the room quietly darkened as they lay together, unmoving save for their shared breaths, each one lifting Dean slightly, lowering him slightly. Occasionally, Cas leaned forward to brush his lips over Dean’s forehead, ridiculously used his nose to shift the short hairs that got in the way, but mostly they were still. Each time Dean glanced up, he saw Cas looking down at him, smiling bemusedly, eyes perfectly clear and blue, so intense Dean had to look away, until the need to convince himself it was real drove him to gaze up once more. Drowsy, Dean let his mind drift, let the time pass away until the room was black save for the long blue shadow of the window stretched across the carpet. He’d never felt more safe, more looked after, more cared for or cared about, in his entire life.

 _It won’t last_.

Dean sighed. There was the old familiar recrimination. He’d gotten an hour or two, though, that was pretty good. Cas’ skin was pale in the night-darkened room, his eyes black save for a glimmer of light gathered from some gleam coming through the window.

“You okay?” Cas asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was thick with fatigue. “I’m good, Cas. Thank you, for this…for all of this.”

“Anytime,” said Cas, expression far away.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean that?” he asked, shaking off his exhaustion, looking up at Cas. Cas had suggested it wasn’t a one-off earlier, but surely that had been the arousal talking. Dean didn’t dare let himself hope. Startled, Cas met his gaze.

“If you want to…” Hesitancy and reticence trailed off as Cas feel silent, lips in a flat, uncomfortable line.

 _See? Won’t last_.

“Never mind,” mumbled Dean. At least he had this once. At least he could hold his head on Cas’ chest, hear Cas’ heart beat echoing in his ear, steady and grounding. “If you don’t want to, it’s nothing.”

“I didn’t mean…” Cas hugged him close, driving away Dean’s dark thoughts in a warm embrace. “Don’t worry. I want this, Dean. I want this _a lot_. I just don’t want to push you. I need you to keep telling me, okay? I need you to keep being clear with me.”

“I’ll try,” said Dean dubiously. “That’s the best I can promise. I want to do this again. I do.”

“That’s enough,” Cas mouthed a wet kiss between Dean’s eyes, and Dean let them slip shut, loving the feel of Cas wrapped around him, every bit as warm as the blanket. “You’re enough, Dean, just like you are. I don’t need anything except what you’re willing to give.”

There was a long pause, Dean barely holding back tears, Cas clutching Dean as if afraid Dean would disappear if Cas relaxed his grip for a moment.

“Would you stay the night?” Dean couldn’t bring himself to care how vulnerable the question made him sound. He couldn’t let Cas leave now.

“I’d like that, Dean,” Cas sighed and slouched against the headboard, easing the angle at which they lay to one more comfortable.

“Me too,” Dean’s last tension faded. Cas was going to stay, going to hold him through the night, and wanted to do this with him again. Could his day get any better?

“Then I’ll never leave.”

Yeah, yeah it could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said four chapters, but there's a little bonus one to come, I'll probably also get it up tonight - it's written, just needs a quick brush up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request - and cause I though it made sense as an ending to the story, to tie up some loose ends I wasn't planning to address else where - SURPRISE have some Castiel PoV!! :)

Dean looked relaxed in sleep as he never did awake, boyish, ten years younger, stirring every fantasy Castiel had nursed when he was a teenager wishing Dean would look at Castiel and see an object of desire. Guilt washed over him. Dean had called for help when he was extremely vulnerable, and Castiel had taken advantage to get what he wanted. In the state Dean was in when Castiel arrived, was he even capable of consent? Yet the things Dean had said had been too tempting, too alluring, and Castiel took them at face value. What choice did he have? And Dean did seem better for the care he’d received, which went far to quell Castiel’s concerns that he’d behaved inappropriately. If, in the clear light of morning, Dean felt differently, they would have that conversation and deal with the consequences. At least Dean was resting, at least he was asleep, at least Cas had medicated his wounds and soothed his aches and given him the pleasure he’d more than earned and been cruelly denied.

Guilt couldn’t explain away Dean’s repeated statements that he wanted Castiel, had wanted him all along. Guilt couldn’t deny the many, obvious physical signs of Dean’s desire. Dean had reacted to Castiel’s touch as if it were electric. Dean had whimpered and squirmed and silently begged him for more. Dean had pleaded for Cas to make love to him so passionately that Castiel had surrendered even though he’d had no intention of allowing things to go so far. Dean had come screaming Castiel’s name. The mere memory of his name in that beloved voice sent a shiver through Castiel, punched a low moan from him, stirred renewed arousal that brushed against Dean’s hip and drew a whimper from Castiel’s oldest, dearest friend. Even in sleep, Dean was pressing their bodies close, afraid to let go, afraid of being let go of.

Awkwardly, Castiel disentangled one arm and groped towards the table beside the bed where he’d left Jimmy’s cell phone. The movement jostled Dean, whose grip on him tightened.

“Don’t go, Cas,” murmured Dean, worrisomely feverish. “Don’t...don...go...”

“Still here,” Castiel replied in a reassuring whisper, stroking along Dean’s side gently. He held his free hand over Dean’s forward, and was reassured that he didn’t feel sickly warm. With the extent of Dean’s injuries, infection was a definite danger, and Castiel would keep his eye on the wounds to be sure that Dean didn’t grow ill. “I won’t leave you alone, not when you need me.”

“Need you...” Dean breathed, slumping against Castiel’s chest.

Reaching once more towards the table, Castiel’s searching fingers found the phone and he grabbed it and turned the screen on. It was nearly midnight. When he and Jimmy had parted, Castiel had given his brother his own cell, since they had the same model, and Jimmy could charge Castiel’s phone and use it so that they could stay in touch. Sure enough, he had a string of missed texts from Jimmy.

_Cassie baby (7:01 PM): Your phone is back in action._

_Cassie baby (7:02 PM): What's the sitch, bro?_

_Cassie baby (7:03 PM): Is Dean alright? Do you need help? I could come over._

_Cassie baby (7:06 PM): Just lemme know k? I'm worried. Bout both of you._

_Cassie baby (10:32 PM): Are you coming home tonight Cassie??????????_

_Cassie baby (10:34 PM): FFS I don’t care how late it is text me when you get this._

Cas smiled and tapped out a reply. At least Jimmy hadn’t stormed over to Dean’s apartment and demanded explanation. That could have been awkward. Castiel’s relationship with his brother was an entire different conversation, not for today, likely not for any time soon. Castiel hoped that he and Dean could build something based on today, and Castiel hoped desperately there would be a place for his brother in there, but he couldn’t broach that topic until he and Dean were comfortable together.

_Jimmy (11:51 PM): Sorry I worried you. Dean had a very rough day, and he needed all of my attention. He’s sleeping now. He’s not alright but I think he will be._

_Cassie baby (11:52 PM): WTF happen?_

_Cassie baby (11:52 PM): u stay night w him?_

_Cassie baby (11:52 PM): freakin out o here bro_

_Jimmy (11:53 PM): Succinctly?_

_Cassie baby (11:53 PM): All ears._

_Cassie baby (11:55 PM): You writing a fucking dissertation over there, Cassie?_

_Jimmy (11:57 PM): Dean is a sub and he’s been in a sadomasochistic relationship with a man. Today during a scene that man flogged Dean until his back was torn open, ignored when Dean used a safeword, and raped him. When the scene was over, Dean ended their relationship and left without receiving any care for his emotional or physical injuries, including wounds on his back that were bleeding badly. With his permission, I provided him with aftercare, he shared the truth with me, and we had a serious discussion about our shared interest in dominance/control relationships._

_Cassie baby (11:58 PM): You mean you had sex._

_Cassie baby (11:59 PM): Right?_

_Jimmy (12:00 AM): I’d appreciate if you could use your contacts in the BDSM scene to find a man named Alastair. The name is unusual and I suspect this isn’t the first time he’s crossed lines. Finding him should be easy._

_Cassie baby (12:01 AM): DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT HAVE SEX WITH DEAN WINCHESTER?_

_Cassie baby (12:03 AM): Of course I’ll help you fuck up this Alastair douche anyone who hurts Dean is a dead man but throw me a bone here._

_Jimmy (12:05 AM): I had sex with Dean Winchester._

_Cassie baby (12:06 AM): AND?_

_Jimmy (12:07 AM): I think he wants to be my sub. It was poor timing on my part. I shouldn’t have taken advantage._

_Cassie baby (12:09 AM): Total bullshit bro. If he didn’t want you this is the last moment he’d have let you touch him._

_Jimmy (12:10 AM): He was extremely vulnerable._

_Cassie baby (12:10 AM): He begged for your cock to heal his booboos._

_Cassie baby (12:11 AM): fix it doctor Cassie make me all better_

_Cassie baby (12:11 AM): feels so goooooood_

_Jimmy (12:12 AM): When I see you tomorrow I’ll tell you all about it._

_Cassie baby (12:12 AM): You’d better._

_Cassie baby (12:16 AM): Was it good, Cassie?_

_Jimmy (12:18 AM): It was the best sex I’ve ever had. Ever._

_Cassie baby (12:19 AM): I’m happy for you._

_Cassie baby (12:20 AM): Jealous as fuck, but happy._

_Jimmy (12:21 AM): You think I won’t share?_

_Cassie baby (12:22 AM): That’s up to him isn’t it?_

_Jimmy (12:23 AM): Yes, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll sound him out about it when things calm down, assuming this doesn’t all fall apart in the next 24 hrs._

_Cassie baby (12:24 AM): It won’t._

_Jimmy (12:24 AM): It might._

_Cassie baby (12:24 AM): It won’t._

_Jimmy (12:25 AM): Goodnight Jimmy._

_Cassie baby (12:25 AM): Night bro. Take care of him._

Castiel typed out “I love you” and his finger hovered over the send key, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit it. Jimmy found it upsetting when Castiel stated his feelings, and whenever Castiel said it, he knew too well that he was masking a deeper affection that Jimmy wasn’t able to accept from him. He loved Jimmy, profoundly, inescapably, and the thought of losing Jimmy, even for Dean, was terrifying. He needed them both. Castiel knew that made him selfish, desperate, pathetic even, but he couldn’t help his feelings. If he could, he wouldn’t have spent the last decade pining for Dean, wouldn’t have spent his entire adulthood flirting around the edges of lover’s intimacy with his brother. Deleting the message unsent, he sighed and tossed the phone aside. Dean mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep, and Cas smiled despite his dark thoughts.

Tomorrow, Castiel would give Dean some time to recover alone and sort out his feelings without any external pressure. Tomorrow, Cas would meet up with his brother, track down this Alastair, and teach him the price of hurting someone that the Novak twins loved. Tomorrow, Castiel would lie in bed with Jimmy, wrap an arm around his waist and another around his brother’s gorgeous cock. He’d rub his aching need against Jimmy’s back while he stroked Jimmy off, whisper in Jimmy’s ear all the things Dean had said, all the things he’d done, shared how absolutely perfect Dean had been, attempt to communicate how utterly amazing it had felt to be inside Dean.

His guilt rose again. He was violating Dean’s trust by sharing with Jimmy, but Castiel had shared Dean with his brother for so long that he couldn’t stop now. He’d never thought either of them would get to have this with Dean. If it was going to be one of them, it _should_ have been Jimmy, probably would have been but for the fluke that Castiel was available that afternoon and Jimmy wasn’t. He could never deny Jimmy something that Castiel knew his brother wanted so badly, every bit as badly as Castiel did.

Tomorrow, he and Jimmy would both come moaning Dean’s name as they had so many times before.

This time, though, for the first time, there was the quiet promise of the real thing awaiting him, maybe awaiting both of them. It was shaming to admit that what must have been one of the worst days of Dean’s life had proved to be one of the best of Castiel’s.

Castiel would make it up to Dean. He’d make Dean feel amazing, teach him the pleasure he deserved, lift him up over and over again, however many times he had to until Dean finally believed Castiel, believed in himself, until Dean finally looked at himself and saw what Castiel had seen all along: the most handsome, hard working, brave, special, deserving man in the world. All he hoped was that he’d have the chance, that Dean wouldn’t retreat, wouldn’t push him away again.

Tomorrow. Castiel would find out tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So...that's this prequel. I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> It's Monday night here - on Wednesday morning I'm leaving on a six day vacation (I'm going to Gencon in Indianapolis, so if anyone reading this is going to be there, you should totes ping me and say hi. ;) ). Knowing me, I probably WILL get some writing done, but I doubt I'll post anything.
> 
> I have no idea if more stories in this verse is what I'll do next. Based on how I feel right now? Probably not. However, I am planning to go through everything I've written so far and do a little clean up/grammatical stuff. Nothing much will change, though.
> 
> I'm leaving the series marked incomplete - I definitely have more ideas, and I *love* Cas/Jimmy/Dean as a threesome, and these versions of them in particular, and I expect that even if I put this aside for now, I'll be back to visit with more angst and more PWP. So Subscribe to the SERIES (not the individual stories!) if you want notifications when I do more.
> 
> Thanks, everyone! I have adored writing these, I hope you've enjoyed reading them. :)


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